The Dominus Plot
by KillerShrimp
Summary: Darth Dominus has waited ages for the perfect conquest. The Sith Master has two vicious apprentices for sons and the deadliest army in history. A Dark Jedi has come to his banner, and if proven worthy, will spearhead his invasion from the shadows. . .
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: _Star Wars _fanfiction is based upon the _Star Wars_ movies of the same name. All characters and situations other than my own are the property of George Lucas, 20th Century Fox and whoever else makes a ton of cash with that outstanding evolutional franchise.

STAR WARS: THE DOMINUS PLOT

**Chapter 1: ** **Attack and audience**

Darth Dominus leaned forward on his throne and stared with disbelief at the security monitors. Something dangerous was smashing through the outer defenses of his citadel and slaughtering his guards. Until now, the Sith Master had considered his lair both hidden and impenetrable, but the dark-robed figure that slipped effortlessly through the corridors had dissolved that impression.

"Could it be a Jedi?" asked his son Erader beside the throne. "I've never seen one so violent."

"Or another Sith lord?" asked Stigator, his second son.

Dominus slowly shook his head. "None of my rivals have lived to carry a vengeance."

Klaxons blared from the inner perimeter of the sanctum. The lone attacker had destroyed an automated blaster turret just twenty meters from his audience chamber.

"We will give him a proper greeting," snarled Erader.

"Remain calm, my son," replied the father. "We have time. Learn all you can from an aggressive enemy, even during an onslaught."

"Are you not outraged, father?" Stigator inquired. "Our hidden base has been revealed!"

Dominus permitted a slight grin, waved a hand at the monitors. "Then where is the siege? Where is the usual fanfare I've come to expect from a military assault? And why are we pestered by a single warrior?"

Stigator took a deep breath and glanced at the monitors. His father was correct. The skies above were empty of fighters and drop ships. Enemy dreadnoughts were missing from orbit. Dominus's army of prized mercenaries camped right outside his ramparts, but had not spotted any shock troops. There was no bombardment from above or blasts from below. Only a single intruder in black garb was spotted by the security cameras.

A pair of sentry droids met the dark one outside his chamber. Their blaster rifles spat angry bolts down the corridor. The figure drew a familiar energy weapon and moved with alarming speed against them. His glowing red blade deflected each blast and cut through the robots.

"A red lightsaber," Stigator exclaimed. "How interesting."

"That's a Sith lord out there!" shouted Erader, reaching the conclusion with less speed than his sibling. The apprentice stomped up to the chamber doors with his own lightsaber drawn and humming at his side.

The doors were suddenly wrenched open by a powerful, invisible power, and the black-clad warrior stepped into the audience chamber. His red lightsaber was held casually to the side. His features were hidden by a low hood, but identity was not directly important. It took a fraction of a second for the Sith lords to sense that this intruder was armed with the Force. The apprentices prepared for immediate death.

Darth Erader roared in anger and barreled in on the attacker. Their energy beams crunched and crackled together. The figure bowed slightly under the weight of the blow, but did not retreat. There was no need for discourse here. Their red sabers did the talking for them.

Dominus watched the whirling melee with steady eyes, picking details out of the martial display. He was not alarmed and refused to leave his throne. The mysterious attacker had cut his way through a hundred droids and guards. If exhaustion did not claim him, he would be smothered by Erader's vast reservoir of strength. His son was incredibly powerful for an apprentice. Dominus had taught him to convert his emotions into pistons of offensive energy. The intruder only stoked that hateful furnace.

Erader pushed the warrior into the doorway, grunting like a bear protecting its den. The cloaked adversary parried without a sound. He feigned a retreat into the corridor, but dropped into a spin kick that took Erader's legs out from under him. The robed figure flipped over the apprentice and landed back in the audience chamber. Chastened, Erader leaped up and ran after him.

Dominus was honestly impressed by this opponent. His son unleashed a broadside of skillful strikes, but was forced on the defensive. The unknown warrior was swift and forceful, even artistic in his use of a lightsaber. But there were complications to this match. It moved too quickly, nothing but a flurry of uncertain death. The Sith Master began to doubt the outcome.

He watched Stigator creep around the fighters like a hunting cat, waiting for a moment to pounce. His second son was cooler-headed, but no less deadly. Stigator would murder anyone if the opportunity presented itself. Perhaps the treacherous apprentice would push aside his brother and deliver the death stroke for him.

The hooded opponent sensed the near presence of the other Sith behind him. He parried another of Erader's mighty blows, dashed away and raised a hand in salute to Dominus. The non-violent gesture surprised the defenders.

"Hail, Dominus!" cried the figure. "I've come a long way to see you."

Expecting trickery, Stigator moved the last step into striking range. The heated Erader raised his lightsaber for another attack, but the mystery warrior kept his distance. The apprentices placed themselves in front of their father.

"Come now, Darth Erader," spoke the figure to the hot-headed apprentice. "I don't intend to kill you or your brother. I wish to speak with your father."

Dominus lifted a hand to halt his apprentices. He did not rely entirely on brute force. Wisdom and experience were more useful tools for a Sith Master to control this situation. The danger to Dominus was minimal. The invader was under the watchful gaze of his apprentices, and could be vaporized with a hidden blaster turret at the touch of a button on his throne.

"You have carved a path of destruction up to my doorstep," he said to the warrior. "This is not a courtesy call."

"Violence is a form of communication in our trade," replied the hooded figure. "Your minions refused me. But a wealthy master can easily replace such losses. And if it pleases my lord, I might suggest some improvements to your substandard defenses."

"Most amusing!" chuckled the Sith Master. "Who would dare trespass in my domain and accost my students only to put his head in the lion's mouth?"

"One who would stand under your banner, my lord."

Dominus stiffened in irritation. He was unable to fully penetrate the mind of this creature with the Force. He sensed only clouds and haze. This warrior was not to be trusted. He considered triggering his hidden weapons, but his curiosity was also piqued.

"You salute me with your sword hand, stranger. If you don't intend violence on me, then disarm yourself."

"Alas, I could never surrender my own blade."

"Then deactivate your lightsaber!"

To his surprise, the hooded figure quickly complied. The menacing lightsaber was switched and slipped under his cloak.

"Reveal yourself," Dominus commanded.

The person pulled the hood from his head. Dominus looked upon the sharp features of a human male, some forty years in age. Hard, predatory eyes measured the Sith Master in return. There were no features that caused him to be immediately recognizable.

"Who are you?"

"I am Orlivan Torval."

A lightsaber flashed into Stigator's hand. "Torval from Crathattick? You're a damned Jedi!"

The brothers recoiled like snakes. Dominus restrained them again with a hand signal.

"Not yet, Stigator," commanded the dark lord. "This man has obeyed my instructions. He gives me the courtesy of a sheathed weapon. What are you doing on my planet, Jedi?"

"I was summoned to this planet by the dark side."

"Lies," Stigator hissed.

"I speak truthfully, Darth Dominus. I have journeyed across a great rift to find my destiny. I am cleansed of my former life. I walk a path that has taken me far away from the Jedi Order."

The man's name cemented in Dominus's awareness. The prowess of Orlivan Torval was well known among the dark sects. This was the Jedi knight who helped win the Battle of Crathattick. This was the warrior who killed a Sith Master and three apprentices in a single conflict.

There were curious rumors about him in the Sith archives. He was an eccentric. "Torval the Tinkerer" is what some called him. He once served as an armorer for the Jedi Order on Coruscant and played with lightsaber construction. He was one of a handful of knights summoned to capture a Sith stronghold on Crathattick. It was a dreadfully messy affair. Torval watched his master fall to the bloodthirsty sect that controlled the planet. Torval was enraged. Perhaps that was the very inertia that led to his success in battle. The loss of a teacher could have lured him to the dark side. Dominus wondered if Torval now tinkered with a few of those gifts. Was the knight truly corrupted? Dark Jedi were rare finds, but the Sith Master was not a fool. He would not trust a man who brought only questions with him.

"There are other dark lords in the galaxy," said Dominus. "What made you come to me?"

"Crusades are pointless without a proper leader behind them, my lord. You are among the wisest of the Sith Masters. I wouldn't pledge myself to anyone without accepting his superiority and the prospects of his endeavors."

"Treachery, Father!" shouted Erader. "He means to deceive us!"

Torval shrugged. "Deception requires the deceived to exhibit a weakness of character. Your father has no such weaknesses."

"We have no reason to believe you," rasped Stigator.

The warrior chuckled in response. "Treachery is a testy subject with the Sith, isn't it? But answer me this, Stigator. Why would your father teach the ways of the dark side to both of his sons? Doesn't he know the risks? Assassination, even conducted within one's own bloodline, is an unfortunate pastime in your culture. But a Sith Master who takes more than one pupil knows a thing or two about value. He trusts his sons for the good of his cause. Such a leader is worth following."

"But I haven't seen the value in you," remarked Dominus. "Why should I admit the Jedi champion of Crathattick, the enemy who vanquished four of us in one night?"

The brothers glared at the man with newfound caution. They didn't know that part of the story.

Torval bowed his head. "That was an unfortunate affair. The Sith vanguard that held the stronghold were extremists, as my lord is undoubtedly aware. They were berserkers, and had poor teachers. The engagement was brief."

"No one can defeat a Sith lord!" Erader insisted.

Torval shot a stern glance at the student. "I was just a padawan learner when it happened, boy. The Jedi were overpowered and outnumbered. Do you want to know how they won? They counted on the chronic overconfidence of the Sith. Their apprentices charged us too quickly. The Sith clouded their own instincts, leaving few resources with which to anticipate our attack."

"I don't need a Jedi to lecture me on military history," Stigator growled.

"History makes you stronger. See what you can learn from it!"

Torval's saber was back in the blink of an eye. Stigator moved in to strike, sensed a trap and leaped aside. A second lightsaber appeared in Torval's other hand.

"Attack, attack!" cried the attacking Jedi. "That's all you ever do! There's more to combat than constant onslaught!"

Erader howled as he leaped into the fray, but Torval shook him off with a well placed kick. The Jedi kept the brothers at bay with a dazzling assortment of slashes and thrusts. Dominus grew fascinated as the fighters danced around the chamber. This rogue provided the unexpected in the blink of an eye.

"Move freely!" snapped the stranger. "Flow from parry to strike! Predict the motions of your enemy in the nexus of violence. Let his actions bring opportunity to you!"

To prove his point, Torval provoked the brothers to lunge at him simultaneously. He ducked as their sabers smashed together, negating their own attack. Torval was back on them in a fury. The Sith students began to back frantically over the floor.

It was a brilliant demonstration, but Dominus grew weary of the spectacle. He slapped a panel on his chair, and a blaster turret dropped from the ceiling. The barrels swung toward the black-clad figure.

"Enough!" bellowed Dominus. All three combatants moved apart at the sound of his thunderous voice. The brothers went back on guard, but Torval showed greater restraint. He took one look at the automatic blaster and put away his lightsabers.

"Forgive me," said Torval. "I would never harm your sons. It would be a pity if my chance to serve you was snuffed out."

The Sith Master drummed his fingers near the button that would blast the warrior from his audience chamber. Stigator and Erader moved away from the Jedi, expecting their father to do the obvious thing.

"You were correct about one thing," said Dominus. "Trust is not a word in our lexicon. The Sith do not recognize that kind of integrity when it comes to conquest. I earned this planet and its fiefdom from my master after he perished in battle. He came to power by killing another dark lord. Backstabbing, as you say, is a consequence of our philosophy. Have you, a self-proclaimed follower of the dark side, come to test this?"

Torval detected the sarcasm in the Sith's voice. "I am not interested in treachery, sire. It pleases me to see such devotion in your sons. You value each other. This is why you would not allow me to harm them. You have never committed soldiers in battle unless the prize is worth the sacrifice."

Dominus pointed a finger at him. "What do you know of my battles?"

"You have conquered two systems. You engineered the destruction of the Akkavian Consortium and undermined key campaigns in the Galactic Republic. These have highlighted your reputation."

The Sith Master contemplated the words of this apparent defector. His sons looked at the blaster controls on his father's throne, wondering if Dominus had forgotten that convenient feature. They wanted him to disintegrate the intruder and be done with it. Dominus found it tempting. But he could also see the value in things as Torval had suggested, and the skills of this renegade were not something to throw away.

"There is never any certainty in the Force," he said after a moment. "Even with our gifts, it is impossible to tell everything about an enemy. Our perceptions do not register any one way. Since we do not believe in trust, I have no reason to accept you at all. But the Sith have ways to discern the righteous from the deceptive. I speak of trials, Master Torval. If you truly wish to follow the Banner of Dominus and learn the dark side, then you must face a horrible ordeal. Your true nature will pulled into the open for all to see. You may regret your decision."

Torval was not bothered by this warning. "There is nothing left of my former self but conviction. I will serve you as retainer."

"Proud words," sneered Darth Stigator, "but they are just words."

Dominus pressed another button and withdrew the blaster turret. "Escort him to quarters, my sons. He may keep his weapons."

The apprentices were unhappy with the decision, but followed their orders. Torval bowed before Lord Dominus and exited the audience chamber, flanked by the Sith brothers. They passed a sizzling heap of scrap metal that used to be a diligent pair of sentry droids.

"Do not get too comfortable, Jedi," Erader hissed as they left. "Pray that torture is not among our chosen measures."


	2. Chapter 2

[Disclaimer: Star Wars fanfiction is based upon the Star Wars movies of the same name. All characters and situations other than my own are the property of George Lucas, 20th Century Fox and whoever else makes a ton of cash with that outstanding evolutionary franchise.]

**Chapter 2: Escape of the Lotus**

The _Lotus _drifted helplessly in deep space. The wayward transport could have been easily mistaken as derelict. Its custodian, the astrodroid T6, gave up making entries in the ship's log when the onboard chronometer broke down. The robot would have checked its internal clock, but that device was also disabled. Droids lived in a wonderful world of mechanical precision, so when a span of timelessness occurred they experienced a sense of despair that data couldn't describe.

T6 was built to function autonomously and never stopped working. Robots had thankless jobs, but no droid ever considered itself completely useless. There was always work to be done, and T6 found it interesting that organic masters often relied on droids more than their fleshling counterparts.

An astrodroid offered many useful services, but perhaps none was so important as protecting its master. T6 rolled into the living compartment to examine its shipmate, the single organic occupant and pilot of the _Lotus_. The human had willingly crawled inside a stasis tube to function while his ship was rigged for reduced life support. The _Lotus_was ambushed some time ago by unidentified marauders, and while the pilot took the ship to safety, the attackers had dealt a serious blow. The engines were nearly blasted out of commission, the hull was breached and the reactor was scrammed. The human made a hard choice to enter suspended animation as T6 repaired their sorry ship. The astrodroid did not let him down.

It spent time floating outside the ship to replace scorched wires and patch up the hull. Then it was back inside for a tricky diagnostic of the internal systems. Due to a series of dead sensors it was impossible to know how much coolant had leaked from the reactor. Even if _Lotus _could fly, its engines could overheat and never return them to a shipyard. There was also the problem of determining their exact position, but all these concerns were irrelevant if the power plant could not be restored.

T6 rolled quietly to an open reactor panel in the engine compartment. It extended an articulated claw, sorted through a stringy mess of wires and reconnected every line in the main power conduit. Then it listened for the ambient hum of power behind the bulkheads. The plant was slowly coming back to life. The droid heard the whisper of an overhead ventilator, a welcome sign that life support had returned. The droid plugged into the main panel and raised the cabin temperature. Satisfied that its work was successful, T6 rolled up to the stasis tube and waited for its master to wake up.

It took a few long minutes for Garollian Bard to regain his normal breathing pattern. His eyelids fluttered and slowly lifted. He parted his mouth and inhaled fresh air from the overhead ventilators. It was good to be alive! The human flipped up the lid of the tube, peeked over the rim and noticed the droid.

"Hello, T6," he muttered. "Never thought I'd be happy to see my old garbage can again. How did you do with the _Lotus_?"

The droid gave a positive chirp in response. It was relieved to see that the stasis tube had done its job. Fleshlings were harder to repair than spaceships!

Bard took his time climbing out of the tube. His muscles felt sore and rubbery, and he would look like an idiot if he fell on the floor. Hibernation machines were tricky things. They saved lives in an emergency, but always made him feel unbearably groggy. It would take days to regain a normal sleeping cycle. T6 would have to put up with his grumpy side effects. The droid probably preferred to keep him in the tube. It worked better on the ship when his master was out of the way.

"Let's head to the cockpit," he grumbled to the droid after he gained his footing on the deck. Both moved up a ramp into the cramped control room and went to work.

Bard checked a computer display for the date, but remembered that most of the instruments went dead when the reactor scrammed. That was just the start of their troubles. But the power plant was back up thanks to T6, and the cockpit instruments were warming up. He flipped a switch to raise the blast shutters and peered at the starfield outside.

"I don't see any purple clouds from that nebula," he said. "We must have drifted farther than we thought. Too bad, it made a great hiding place from those blasted marauders. Run a propulsion test, T6. Keep the engines off line until we get our bearing. I don't want anyone to detect our power signature."

The droid tucked its body into an interface socket and ran an analysis on the main thrusters. It presented a positive looking report on the screen in front of its master.

"Great news," Bard replied with a yawn. "Our trusty bird will fly again. Spin up the thrusters. Turn on passive scanners and run a celestial fix on our position. See if there's enough juice in the comm-array. I need to make a call to the old goat."

This far from inhabited space, the most discreet and direct form of contact between two people required some fairly expensive equipment. Luckily the _Lotus _carried a powerful encrypted transceiver that could tap most of the galaxy's signal stations. The gear was a perk from Bard's current employer. The pilot could make private calls to just about anyone without being overheard.

A figurine-sized hologram of Jedi Master Ivos Maddaus flickered to life above the flight deck. Garollian was glad to see the old man after his lengthy passage in stasis. Ivos Maddaus was quite a character in the Jedi Council on Coruscant. Even as a holographic figure, the man had a distinct appearance. His long flowing beard hung like a feather above his robes. Fluffy white eyebrows were set over sharp eyes that observed everything in sight. But those attentive orbs betrayed fatigue. Like all Jedi knights, Maddaus went to great lengths to protect the Republic. Despite their abilities, no Jedi was impervious to exhaustion. Meditation was commonly used to restore stamina but was only a supplement to genuine rest. Bard wondered when Maddaus had last slept, but he didn't want him to retire just yet. It was Maddaus who sent him into deep space, and hopefully it was Maddaus who knew how to get him home.

"You look well, Garollian," said the old man over his encrypted channel. "I've not heard from my favorite smuggler in some time."

"Good to see you too, old man."

"Have we fallen off the beaten path?"

"I had some trouble leaving the G'nolmon system."

"You safely delivered the Republic ambassador?"

"I sneaked him under the radar. He got there safe and sound. Negotiations were going well with the mining guild when I left him. But you didn't tell me about the disgruntled freelance miners who put a bounty on my head."

Maddaus lifted a bushy eyebrow. "On your head? What would the guild want with you?"

"They wanted the scalp of anyone from the Republic who talked with the G'nolmons. The local bounty hunters were hungry. They jumped me when I left the system. They almost blasted me out of deep space! I expect a hazard bonus when I get back to Coruscant, of course."

"Yes, of course."

"One of the marauders charbroiled my hyperdrive pod with a lucky shot. I had to jettison the hardware and duck into a nebula."

"How fares the _Lotus_?"

"No worse for wear. My sublight engines are back up, but I'll never get back without hyperdrive."

"How far are you from inhabited space?"

Bard looked at T6. The droid put their calculated position on a screen.

"Looks like I'm twenty-nine hours from the backside of the G'nolmon shipping route, but I'll never reach the planet itself."

"Excellent! I am familiar with that route. The region is popular with cargo runners of lesser repute."

"'Lesser repute?' Do you mean smugglers?"

"Indeed. But without hyperdrive, you will have to piggyback on another ship to leave the system. I know a captain in the sector who owes me a favor."

"Have you been talking to other smugglers, Maddaus? What would the council think of this?"

Maddaus produced a shrewd smile. "I can hardly imagine their reaction."

It was a typical response from the old Jedi Master, which Garollian admired. In this galaxy, sometimes a man had to lie, cheat or steal to survive. If a Jedi was supposed to do those things, it was for a good reason. Maddaus orchestrated some of the council's lesser known campaigns that stood on ethically questionable ground. Sometimes a Jedi had to work in the netherworld between right and wrong to stop an enemy of the Republic. He was a lone wolf who employed a flock of black sheep. That was why a scruffy pilot like Garollian Bard worked on the Jedi payroll. He was an unseen "assistant" that helped Maddaus get the job done.

"I'm still in one piece," he told his boss. "Where do you want me?"

"I want you to proceed at best speed to the shipping route and look for an ore carrier called the _Comet Box_."

"What does she look like?"

"Distinctive, Garollian."

"Really."

"I will make arrangements for her captain to haul aboard the _Lotus_ and assist with your repairs. I will issue new instructions when you're out of harm's way. I trust you can avoid any other scuffles?"

"I won't get shot, if that's what you mean."

"A pity we Jedi do not gamble," commented the old man. "If we did, I would place favorable bets on your chances at the betting pools on Malastare. Your record of narrow escapes has always been impressive."

Bard shrugged. "If any Jedi could turn a profit, it'd be you."

"Then let us hope you return to earn your own, Garollian. May the Force be with you."

Returning to the outskirts of inhabited space gave Bard and T6 time to evaluate their ship's damage. The droid did a great job patching up the _Lotus_, but there were lasting technical problems that could only be fixed in a shipyard. Still, the _Lotus _ran as well as she did before her encounter with the bounty hunters, and that comforted the pilot and his dutiful droid.

It seemed like only yesterday when Bard happened across the _Lotus _in a derelict yard on Naboo. He fell in love with the used courier ship the moment he stole her. The hull reminded him of an insect carapace. The twin atmospheric stabilizers resembled the fluttering wings of a beetle. Some would call the vessel ugly, but in Bard's eyes the _Lotus _had style and grace. She was streamlined, unique, and deserved to fly. He spent years working on the transport until it was ready for interstellar travel. The refit kept him focused, patient and determined. Smugglers needed those qualities when they weren't getting paid.

T6 found a spaceship on the scanners and chimed in to get Bard's attention. The man leaned over the droid to see the readout.

"What kind of hauler is that?" he asked.

This had to be the _Comet Box_, but he had never seen anything like it. The ship was an ore carrier, but an incredible example of lazy construction. Pieces of different ships were put together to form the hull and nothing seemed to match. Thruster assemblies were spot-welded in some places. Sensor arrays poked out of the hull like whiskers and tails. The command section was a dented blister with an ugly gash over the view ports. The cargo bays were crudely arranged amidships. Some loading doors were actually open to vacuum, perhaps the result of decompressions. _Comet Box _didn't have any active running lights, although the lighting grid was probably broken. That was a blatantly obvious hazard to navigation. If her chaotic exterior was the same as her interior, Bard had to wonder how the ship flew at all. Nevertheless, Ivos Maddaus considered the ship and its captain to be reliable. Bard was looking forward to coming aboard.

Bard pressed his microphone button and hailed the freighter on a short-range radio frequency. "This is _Lotus_. I'm looking for _Comet Box_. Can you please identify yourself?"

Someone answered on the hauler after a short pause. The speaker's voice was chopped with static. "_Lotus_, this is _Comet Box. _We've been expecting you. The captain wants to know how he can trust you."

It was a reasonable inquiry. Passing haulers were frank with each other. Space crews could smell trouble. They didn't have time to test the sincerity of a stranger, and trust wouldn't save their skins on a deep run. But what could Garollian say to them to prove himself? Maybe dealing in valuable information was the best way to get their attention.

"I hear that the G'nolmon mining guild will cut into their security budget for the next season. There won't be as many patrol ships out here the next time you fly into the shipping corridors."

_Comet Box _took a minute to respond. "_Lotus_, do you know anything about bounty hunters?"

Bard frowned. That could be a loaded question. Where were they going with this? He took _Lotus _alongside the freighter at a safe, non-provocative distance. He shook his head in amazement as he passed the makeshift hulk of the drive section.

"I've seen them around," he muttered over the microphone.

"You think they're smart, _Lotus_?"

"Some of them are. Depends on the business."

"Must be good business around here. What about the two raiders that followed you?"

Bard froze in his seat. He couldn't see any ships on his scanners, but sensed that time was running out. With his half his ass in the frying pan, the pilot had no choice but to cooperate with the _Comet Box_. They were his only way of getting out alive.

"I was jumped about five days ago by two marauders. I didn't know they followed me!"

"They damn well did," growled another voice over the channel. "Those bounty hunters want you more than they want us. You'll have guns on your hull in about six minutes."

Six minutes! Bard knew his chances already. It was time to bargain aggressively.

"How about that call from Ivos Maddaus, _Comet Box_? Did he confirm my identity?"

"He sure did, Bard. He also told me that you're the charitable type."

Bard realized he was speaking with the captain. "What kind of charitable?"

"We heard you've got cargo to spare. Weapons. We could use that kind of firepower."

The old goat told them about the weapons? How did he know that? The _Lotus _was smuggling two crates of blaster rifles before Bard was hired for the courier trip to G'Nolmon. Bard needed them for future trading. A chance for extra credits went right out the window.

"Always glad to help a ship in distress," he sighed. "Fine. You're welcome to my private inventory. But those raiders are getting close to our skin! How about we skip the chatter and let me dock in your hangar bay?"

The response was static laughter. The bridge crew was having a joke at his expense. "We haven't got a docking bay," answered the freighter captain. "Get ready for a manual landing and wait for our signal."

Bard tapped T6 on his swiveling head. "I'll take over from here."

He gently adjusted the thruster, tilted the _Lotus _until she faced the starboard side of the _Comet Box_. The signal he was told to watch for was a moving red light in one of the open cargo holds. Someone in a space suit was waving a flare at him.

"Drop the landing skids," he told T6. "We're going in."

He tapped the aft thrusters and watched the bulk of the freighter fill the cockpit window. Bard focused on that moving flare stick. It was a delicate maneuver, like tucking a Bantha into a shoe box, but for once it took his mind off bounty hunters. All that mattered was tossing the _Lotus _into the basket and calling it a day.

"Bard to _Comet Box_. Verify my range to landing pad, over."

"_Lotus, _you look more or less on target."

Bard grimaced as the proximity alarm screamed into his ears. The console spat out a range of thirty meters, then twenty, then ten. He never took his eyes off the flare stick in the gaping hold. The metal box alone was less than twelve meters wide.

"Kill the engines!" he shouted. "We'll drift inside. Activate mag-strips on all landing skids!"

The terrible sound of steel scraping on steel rang out in the cockpit. It was a very tight fit. But before he knew it, the whole ship slipped inside and the magnetic skids grabbed the hold. He checked the proximity sensors and breathed a sigh of relief.

"I think we just docked."

The droid chirped in agreement. The robot could have done better, but was just as glad to be out of trouble.

Out the cockpit window, an alien in a spacesuit extinguished the flare and turned on a helmet light. Its three green eyes winked at the human.

"You landed without killing yourself, human. Not bad. Welcome aboard the _Comet Box_."


	3. Chapter 3

[Disclaimer: Star Wars fanfiction is based upon the Star Wars movies of the same name. All characters and situations other than my own are the property of George Lucas, 20th Century Fox and whoever else makes a ton of cash with that outstanding evolutionary franchise.]

**Chapter 3: One last trip**

Towson's beloved wife asked him the one question he didn't want to hear at the end of her recorded message. It was a simple sentence that laid a heavy burden on him.

"When will you come home?"

He turned away from the hologram viewer, unwilling to answer. The image of his wife swayed gently like a little angel, her hands folded over a long gown. She was beautiful in the projected light, the most enchanting creature he had ever seen. Towson had to tell her something, but didn't know what to say.

The commodore felt old and weary today. The end of his career had come too quickly. It was forced retirement, and he should have expected it on his horizon. The Republic military always reorganized between conflicts. They had no use for veteran fleet commanders who sat around between battles. They had to make room for younger officers who needed experience in the field. Adding insult to injury, the Republic had also ordered the decommissioning of his ships, the famous Squadron 39. His cherished cruisers, once mighty spears of the fleet, were going to the scrapyard. They were as antiquated to strategists as the commodore. Not one of them was reassigned for training or reserves. It felt like Towson's personal history would be completely erased.

Towson switched off the hologram of his wife and turned to the navigational coordinates on his cabin computer. He had daydreamed about those coordinates for the last week, mapping out the course in his head. The route would take a ship to the very fringe of inhabited space. The data was an unexpected gift from an old friend who was going to give the commodore one last chance to do his best. Towson was excited by the chance to leave Republic space. Like the loyal captains of his squadron, he feared the death throes of a retired veteran. But before he departed, his wife had to be told something.

Towson cleared his throat and turned on the desk recorder. The camera on the desk would record the commodore as he always looked: dressed smartly in uniform, his chin up, eyes sharp and face set with determination.

"My dearest love," he began, "I miss you every day. The Fleet is done with me. I got the order yesterday. There's no room in the yard for a grumpy old space dog. Admirals and commodores have always feared this moment. In ancient times they used to print your retirement orders on real paper. Isn't that interesting? If I had them in hand, I'd frame them. My ships will retire with me, but they're also getting thrown into the scrapyard. I can't say I'm happy about that. You should hear the _Archangel_. She's creaking from stem to stern. It will be hard to leave. But there's one last trip I have to take, darling. I have to find a fitting end for a good squadron. With luck I'll be home in a month when the job is done. I love you with all my heart."

He turned off the recorder before his voice left him. It was painful to lie to her, but how else could he explain it? When did Commodore Towson, distinguished fleet commander, turn renegade and vanish from Republic space?

_Today_, he told himself. _The deed will be done today_.

The coordinates meant everything to him. Towson copied the data onto a tablet, tucked the device in a pocket and headed for the bridge. The _Archangel_, his flagship, was unbearably quiet. The six warships of Squadron 39 were currently manned by skeleton crews, roughly thirty men and women on each cruiser. It was the bare minimum of personnel needed to take the squadron to the scrapyard. He felt very lonely when the majority of his crews debarked. Towson walked faster to the bridge, listening for conversations in the cooridors. If he didn't focus on his work or talk with his remaining crew, he'd get hopelessly depressed.

A young officer he didn't recognize was standing on the bridge when he entered, chatting quietly with the captain of the _Archangel_. Both snapped to attention at his arrival.

"Good morning, Commodore," said Captain Neiss.

"Good morning, Captain," returned the commodore. "Who is this fellow?"

The officer gave a smart salute. "Lieutenant Voss from the fleet yard, sir. The dockmaster sends his compliments. Station command has authorized your ships for departure. Local space is cleared for your squadron to maneuver."

"Very well, Lieutenant," said Towson. "Why come in person? We have a busy day. I have to smash up my cruisers before they get too rusty."

Voss didn't seem to get the sarcasm. "I will be brief, Commodore. The dockmaster wishes to inquire about the equipment your supply officers took from the station last night."

"What equipment?"

"Eight prefab field hospitals. Six prefab garrisons. Four emergency generator modules. One base-size shield generator. Twenty pallets of assorted rations, medical supplies, water purifiers and energy converters were also transferred to Squadron 39."

The lieutenant had memorized the whole manifest. Towson was impressed.

"I appreciate your dockmaster's attention to detail, Mister Voss, but he obviously didn't hear about the earthquake on Naboo."

"An earthquake, sir?"

"One of the continents was badly hit. The squadron is going to deliver emergency supplies. It's all needed for the refugees. I guess the Fleet orders haven't reached you yet."

"Why not carry that aboard a couple of freighters, sir? Your cruisers aren't equipped for heavy cargo."

"Have you seen my ships, Voss? Take a look at _Satyr_ on our port side. She's missing a missile battery. The _Dragon_'s No. 2 engine room was completely stripped of parts. _Unicorn _has an empty deck that could fit your entire academy class. We have plenty of room for supplies, and I have good loaders. We'll stop by Naboo before our appointment with the scrapyard."

Captain Neiss hovered behind Voss, anxious to get the upstart officer off his ship. The lieutenant accepted the commodore's explanation, but was still tacked to an insinuating line of prepared questions.

"Begging your pardon, sir, but the dockmaster also wishes to know why Squadron 39 is fully loaded with munitions. Your vessels are scheduled for a full decommissioning, as I recall."

Captain Neiss cleared his throat. "The commodore doesn't have to answer all your questions, Lieutenant."

For a moment, Voss looked like he would implode under the pressure of the superior officer. Towson couldn't help but laugh.

"Take it easy, Captain. Our visitor is just doing his job. How long have you been in the fleet, son? Any ship duty?"

"I got my commission two years ago, sir. I've never been assigned to a Republic vessel."

"Then let me tell you something about running a warship. Never go anywhere without teeth. The Republic has plenty of enemies. I'd hate to be ambushed out of hyperspace and not have anything to throw at the enemy. We have to defend ourselves if necessary."

"The Republic has plenty of warshots, Lieutenant," added Neiss. "If the dockmaster wants to keep a tight munitions inventory, we can always return our warheads by transport at the end of our cruise. Understood?"

Voss nodded obediently. He felt embarrassed, and maybe a little irritated. The word of two senior officers was enough for him. These men had fought in the Nova War, after all. They knew what they were doing. Was the dockmaster afraid to board the _Archangel _and question them himself?

"Thank you for your time, Commodore. Sorry to bother you."

Towson patted him on the shoulder. "You're just doing your job, son. No problem with that. Can you find your way back to the airlock?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

Voss clicked his heels together, saluted and promptly left the bridge. Captain Neiss watched him trot down the passage.

"He's too young for the uniform," he mumbled.

"Nevermind him," said Towson. "What's our status?"

"All ships are ready to get underway, sir."

"Did _Unicorn _fix that busted conduit?"

"Captain Wall borrowed a repair crew from the station. They just debarked and he's given the green light."

Towson handed his tablet to Neiss. "Get these coordinates to our commanders via coded message. I want all ships to set course for Naboo and cruise in loose formation out of the fleet yard. We'll break course when we've passed the monitor stations, then make the jump to hyperspace to those coordinates instead."

His flag captain examined the information. "I still can't believe we're going to do this."

"Any problems, Neiss?"

"None whatsoever, sir. The squadron is with you. We're just excited about the mission. It seems like forever since we got into a scrap."

"This scrap may have serious consequences, Captain."

"Perhaps, sir. I was too rowdy to run a desk anyway."

"Then take the conn. _Archangel _is first to launch. Let's get the hell out of here."


	4. Chapter 4

[Disclaimer: Star Wars fanfiction is based upon the Star Wars movies of the same name. All characters and situations other than my own are the property of George Lucas, 20th Century Fox and whoever else makes a ton of cash with that outstanding evolutionary franchise.]

**Chapter 4: Dark Jedi**

The battle droids were fighting badly against a single enemy. They opened up with blaster rifles, hoping to roast the target, but the opponent deflected their barrage with his lightsabers. Then the dark warrior was inside their perimeter, hacking and stabbing every automaton in sight. The robots drew bayonets, stunners and plasma torches and fell upon him in a fruitless melee. The red lightsabers ripped the platoon apart and sent pieces of plastic and metal flying everywhere. It was carnage of the inorganic variety.

The command droid was programmed to judge the tactical situation. It watched its infantry waste away and duly radioed for reinforcements. It was the droid's last action before the warrior chopped off its head.

The Sith lords watched the demolition in the arena from the safety of their control room. This was not a simulation. The battle droids were ordered to kill the Jedi. Orlivan Torval had wasted the mechanical platoon without hesitation.

"Was this really necessary?" Stigator asked his father. "Droids are expensive. We should have sent in some of our mercenaries instead. They can improvise in battle."

"Not against a Jedi," answered Dominus. "Human soldiers would be intimidated by a Jedi on the rampage. Battle droids do not know fear. They only do what they're programmed to do."

"The platoon is destroyed," Erader reported. "We should place a requisition order to the Trade Federation for replacements. What shall we do with him now?"

"Drop him in the maze," replied their master. "Let us see how he survives in the tunnels."

Erader laughed in devilish glee as he slapped a button on a control panel. The ground under Torval's feet suddenly fell away and he vanished into darkness. The Jedi plummeted down a shaft and plopped into a pool of murky, putrid water. The liquid went up to his knees. The Sith watched Torval from infrared cameras as he calmly stood up and activated a lightsaber to illuminate the chamber.

"What did you put in the water, brother?" Stigator inquired. "Poisonous predafish? Razor weeds?"

"Nothing at all," chuckled Erader. "The fool should be worried about the tunnel instead. Watch."

Torval made a quick examination of his surroundings before taking the only tunnel out of the pit. He trudged forth in the slop, found a shelf to the right and climbed up.

A snarling beast the size of a chair charged out of the tunnel. The Jedi swung his lightsaber in front of him and cut the monster in two. One half plopped into the water and the other fell at his feet. Strewn innards sizzled and smoked around Torval's boots. He seemed cautious of this offal byproduct and jumped into the water. The cameras watched him fasten a filter mask over his mouth, one of many useful tools in a Jedi's personal inventory.

"Ah, a Tatooine cave boar," remarked Stigator. "An interesting addition to the maze, Erader."

"The boar's skin is irritated by moist climates," said the brother. "When exposed to water, its blood becomes toxic. Torval has run into these before."

Darth Erader enjoyed every miserable moment of the Jedi's ordeal. The sub-levels of the arena were part of his private zoo. It was a wild labyrinth that hid some of the deadliest species in the galaxy. There were bat-like things that clung to the ceiling and leeches the size of a man. Erader even kept a rabid Wookie offbreed that hunted through the maze. The sadistic apprentice had thrown captives into the maze for his personal entertainment. Sometimes a prisoner endured and fought bravely, but only for a long and horrible moment.

Torval was not willing to please his captors with an untimely death. The renegade cautiously measured every step in the darkness. A venomous constrictor fell out of a pipe cluster, angered that the Jedi had disturbed its nest. It stretched out like a sprung coil to crush the human, but was sliced into chunks by his lightsaber. A few sections of pipe were torn from the wall in the process.

"He killed my boa!" shouted Erader. "I spent a considerable sum for that pet."

Torval trudged past a video camera and disappeared. Erader adjusted the optical controls, but the Jedi had wandered further into the maze where cameras were not mounted.

"Will he find the exit?" Stigator inquired.

"I doubt it. There's an airlock ninety meters ahead of him, but he'll never reach it directly. There are tunnels all around him. He might get stuck in a crawlspace or fall into a river shaft. I've hung razor wire everywhere. There are also Noobian rats down there the size of swoop bikes."

Dominus was less interested in this test of survival than his sons. He did not doubt Torval's endurance. If a Jedi knight could storm his citadel and still have the energy to duel his apprentices, then a maze full of carnivores was no challenge at all.

"Tell me about your investigation, Stigator," he addressed his other son. "What have you learned from your research?"

Stigator shrugged. "My spies on Coruscant paint an interesting picture of Orlivan Torval. Some of the Jedi think highly of this wanderer."

"Yet not highly enough to recall him from the Outer Rim."

"Yes, Master. The Jedi Council kept him active after the Battle of Crathattick. He was sent after random fugitives of the Republic. He guarded the occasional delegate on a goodwill tour. He spied on terrorists and rogue states. Torval's missions were always successful, but he rarely traveled with others. Some of the knights alienated him. They thought he couldn't control his emotions, that he would become volatile and endanger other Jedi. But if Torval resented their sentiment, he never expressed it. He took his assignments without question."

"Just as a good knight should."

"Torval's visits to the Jedi Temple grew few and far between. His last trips to Coruscant were brief, presumably to report in and receive new orders. He resupplied his ship and left as quickly as he could. He longed to return to deep space. There were no training periods on Coruscant, no sabbaticals, no courtesy calls. He ignored requests for regular medical exams and avoided meeting personally with the council."

"I find that interesting," said Dominus. "He prefers isolation to brotherhood. Perhaps he wished to hide his inner struggle from the rest of the order. Where does he come from?"

"Dantooine, Father. He escaped from an orphanage at the age of five and stowed aboard an off-world freighter. A Jedi discovered him and took him into the academy training program. But he had a troublesome education. His upbringing was not as uniform as the rest of the Padawan learners. There were quarrels with the other students and arguments with his instructors. Young Orlivan was disciplined, but he withstood their punishment."

"What a lone wolf we've let into our den! Wolves have a singular ferocity. The quality served him well on Crathattick."

"The Jedi order seldom documents the psychological conditions of their brothers and sisters," added Stigator. "That may be a strategic decision to protect themselves from espionage, but the order also fears the dark side should it ever consume their ranks. They felt his loss on Crathattick. It left him unbalanced. The Padawan learner who faced the trials in battle was fit to become a knight, but his path went away from the order."

Dominus turned away from the arena monitors, contemplating this information. "Loss is a strong word, my son. It implies an irreparable rift in a creature's soul. But loss can also bring a survivor closer to destiny. This is a foundation of the dark side."

"Do you believe him, Father?"

"I believe his rage, his hate," said Dominus. "He hides it well. The warrior is cold and calculating, while the man struggles for freedom. Perhaps he has removed the shackles of Jedi structure and embraced a more fluid reality."

"I still think another hour in the arena will let us know for sure," muttered Erader.

Dominus smiled at his other apprentice. "You still wish him dead, my son?"

Erader snorted and returned to the control panels. His desires were obvious. Stigator seemed indifferent to Torval's fate. That left Dominus with a difficult choice. Would the warrior serve him truthfully? Would the dark side control his renegade spirit and bring real victory to the Banner of Dominus? The answer was too far ahead, and their examination wasn't finished. The bloody maze was only the start.

An alarm blared from the control panel, and the Sith lords turned their attention to the screens. They saw the clever Jedi tumble out of a ventilation cover in the arena wall. His cloak, tunic and trousers were soaked in filthy water and his boots were entangled with the entrails of dead monsters.

"He lives!" Erader declared. "Damn that man! Not a scratch!"

"Wait!" cried Stigator. "See what follows him!"

Something brown and hairy with claws and teeth blasted out of the shaft, slammed into Torval with a loud thud and sent them rolling across the arena. Torval cried out with pain as the rabid Wookie pawed at his back. His face was sprayed with hot drool. A shaggy arm lashed out for Torval's jugular, but a pair of red lightsabers flashed to life and sheared it away. The Wookie howled in agony. It clawed at the man's leg with its remaining arm as he stumbled away. Torval screamed, swung his lightsaber and sliced the scalp off its snarling, furry head. The ravenous Wookie shuddered and died.

Disheveled and injured, Torval turned to the distant window of the control room. The Sith lords had watched his every move like a mob of sadistic spectators.

"Is this what I've come for?" he bellowed at them. "Am I a pet for your amusement? Is misery all you want from me?

The dark lords grew quiet. Dominus closed his eyes and reached out with the Force. Torval's rage crashed into them like a monstrous wave. It was an unstoppable, unsatisfied storm of emotion. Even his apprentices were aware of the acidic emotion. The champion of the arena was a genuine Dark Jedi, an abnormality of the Force. Torval was as dangerous to the vaunted Jedi Order as he was to the Sith. He was fueled by anger. He could kill anyone.

Erader's hand lingered over the controls. "Shall I summon more battle droids, Master?"

"Not now," answered the dark lord. "He has earned a brief rest."

"We must break him to see his true self," remarked Stigator. "Yet he resists us. Why won't he surrender?"

"A warrior should do nothing of the sort. Remember, my son. There are other ways to test a defector. This is only the beginning."


	5. Chapter 5

[Disclaimer: Star Wars fanfiction is based upon the Star Wars movies of the same name. All characters and situations other than my own are the property of George Lucas, 20th Century Fox and whoever else makes a ton of cash with that outstanding evolutionary franchise.]

**Chapter 5: Comet Box**

"Are you Bard?" asked the alien.

"That's me."

"They say you're a Jedi messenger boy."

"Who says that?"

Captain Surlibo of the _Comet Box _jabbed two of his four arms in Bard's direction. One of his slender hands held a data tablet with a picture of Bard on the screen. It was a file, and that made Bard nervous. Did Maddaus share everything about him with his newfound rescuers?

He glanced behind the skipper. One of the freighter crew was dragging a crate out of the _Lotus_'s airlock. That was Bard's cache of stolen blaster rifles, his fare for transport out of G'Nolmon space.

Surlibo planted three of his four feet on the bulkhead and climbed up, allowing the crewman to pass. Garollian watched the alien with fascination. He had never seen a Vikosian before. They were said to be the highly evolved descendants of arachnids, but to Bard the alien captain just looked like a big bug in a flight suit. The captain was multitasking even as he hung from the bulkhead. One of his free hands was fidgeting with a comm-panel on the wall.

"Talk to me, Bridge," he called into the speaker. "Were there any scanner spikes when we jumped to hyperspace? Any proximity alarms or targeting sweeps?"

"Not a peep, Cap'n," someone answered. "The bounty hunters gave up when we jumped. Nobody's trailing us."

Surlibo closed the circuit and dropped to the deck. He waved the tablet at Bard.

"You got a criminal record, Bard. You were on the Republic wanted list for a spell. I don't like harboring fugitives. But the Republic isn't following you anymore, are they? Your file was sealed by the courts on Coruscant."

Bard didn't want to disclose anything about his personal life to Surlibo. Why hadn't Maddaus arranged for a quiet retrieval back to Coruscant? Why did the captain ask him all these questions?

"I should have stuck to gun running on the Rim," he grumbled to Surlibo. "If you eat too many contracts for the same company, you start to look like an employee."

Surlibo snorted in response. "Jedi business isn't always legitimate, and it can bring all kinds of trouble. Those raiders off my starboard sure looked like trouble to me."

Bard felt mildly offended. "Do you have a problem with my employer? Why didn't you jump into hyperspace when I showed up? And what sort of business do you do with the Jedi?"

The Vikosian grunted as he put away the tablet. "I suppose I do pry a little. But out this far, questions are all I have to protect my ship. Don't you stick to your guns as well?"

"I'm just trying to get a little further down the road. I'd also like to talk about business. Maddaus said you could help me repair my ship."

Surlibo folded all four of his arms and stared hard at the pilot. Garollian Bard was clean, that much Maddaus had explained in his secure communique. But it wasn't easy for the Vikosian to accept the words of a stranger. Bard was smart enough to shake off the bounty hunters, at least on the first try. He was skilled enough to fly unguided into the _Comet Box_. He was tough enough to keep his wits in the deep, cold vacuum. Was it worth taking him aboard?

_Bard is disreputable, irresponsible and mischievous_, the old Jedi advised Surlibo. _He is also a hard pilot in need of direction. Do you remember what that feels like? _

"My crew will do what they can for you," the captain decided. "Your ship has seen some action."

"T6 patched up most of the hull, but I need a new hyperdrive pod. _Lotus _is just a moon jumper without one."

"Afraid we can't help you there. _Comet Box _is full of ore, not spare parts. I'll have my droid talk to your droid. Maybe we can calibrate your engines. My engineer will hook up the umbilicals and charge your generators."

It was like an offer of water for a man who just crawled from the desert. Bard was pleased to receive his offer.

"I'm grateful for your help, Captain. Enjoy the blasters. I figured you would need them for defense, not money."

"You didn't sound too upset about losing them."

"They're made on Duro. They don't shoot straight, but they pack a punch and will last forever. Just don't handle them right away. If you can't disarm the DNA skin checker, the trigger guard will cut off your finger. I'll throw in the kit that takes care of that feature."

The Vikosian chuckled in response, rotating all four of his hands like pinwheels. Bard was intrigued by the alien. T6 had been his only company for months, and smugglers didn't frequent the social scene. It was nice to meet new creatures.

"I wish I knew your language," he said thoughtfully. "It would make the trip more interesting."

"Don't play diplomatic, Bard. It doesn't suit you. And Vikosian dialects are painful. I'll start laughing if you try it. But won't be aboard for long. Maddaus sent an encoded message to _Comet Box _for you. You can view it in the mess."

"I need you to find a woman," Maddaus told him in a recorded projection. "There is a Republic agent on the planet Rithoth, codenamed Cirrus. She is working undercover in the capital city on an interesting assignment. This isn't the safest of worlds, so you must be careful when looking for her. Rithoth City is only policed in the clean sectors. Gangs are everywhere from the spaceport to the urban zones. I know you'd rather put up in a shipyard for a refit, but _Lotus _must fly in its present condition.

"Captain Surlibo will take you to orbit. You will land at the Rithoth City spaceport inside Alpha Zone. Security checkpoints are run by city officials, but it won't be hard to get through. I'm transmitting clearance papers with this encoded message. If police start asking questions, tell them you're picking up a passenger and a few government parcels. Since _Lotus _is a courier ship, you won't arouse much suspicion. You can track Cirrus in the city by following her alias, Htoh-Ri. She operates as a masseuse somewhere in Gamma Zone. Mention me by name when you find her so she won't be alarmed."

Bard frowned at the hologram of his employer as it hovered above the mess table. He didn't like these instructions. Rithoth was an exotic world, but Rithoth City was a dump. Once he left the protection of Alpha Zone he would have to deal with all kinds of trouble. There were thieves, murderers, vandals and psychopaths in every door. A few alien gangs were starting to rival the city's security forces. Suddenly it made sense to stay within the cramped spaces of the _Comet Box_.

"The mission is simple, Garollian," Maddaus continued. "Find Cirrus and take her back to the _Comet Box_. Then communicate with me on our usual scrambler code. Don't worry about Surlibo. He will loiter in the system and wait for the _Lotus_. If all goes well, you'll be in and out within a day. I appreciate your extended contract. Rest assured, you and your ship will be well attended to when this assignment is complete. I have faith in your abilities. Find the Republic agent and bring her back to _Comet Box_. The rest will be easy. May the Force be with you."

Maddaus had a way of playing with words for his own amusement, and that always irked Garollian Bard. There was no such thing as a simple mission. And the old man seemed to forget the margin of error whenever he sent Bard into dangerous territory. This trip was not going to be easy.

Bard exited the mess and bumped into Captain Surlibo. The many-limbed Vikosian was lingering outside trying to hear the message.

"I guess we're working together," Bard said. "I'm going on another run."

The captain tapped his four feet on the deck. "Have you ever been to Rithoth?"

"No, but I've heard plenty about it."

"I landed there for shore leave a long time ago, when I didn't know the planet. Five of my crew came back to the ship with bruises, cuts and scorch marks. One of them had a bounty on his head."

"When can we get there?"

"Eleven hours," replied the alien. "Your ship will be as ready as we can make her. And don't worry, we'll stay in the neighborhood. I think I'll find a nice mooring grid on a nearby moon and keep to myself until you get back."

"Don't you have a run to make? What about all the ore in your holds?"

"Cheap rock and stone, that's all." Vikosian waved three of his limbs down the corridor. "Maddaus bought it. He told me to keep it on board."

"What does a Jedi Master want with a million tons of ore?"

"He said it was important."

"I've heard that before."

Bard retired to the cargo bay where _Lotus _was feeding off an umbilical power trunk. He wanted T6 to test every system on his ship. He also wanted to clean his blaster pistol. It had been a while since he had to use a weapon. Maddaus didn't specify trouble, but trouble is what he meant.


	6. Chapter 6

[Disclaimer: Star Wars fanfiction is based upon the Star Wars movies of the same name. All characters and situations other than my own are the property of George Lucas, 20th Century Fox and whoever else makes a ton of cash with that outstanding evolutionary franchise.]

**Chapter 6: Killing Sonad**

A servant droid lowered a platter on the table with mechanical accuracy, careful not to spill the slushy food on the floor. To be messy would mean to summon a cleaning droid, and that was clearly inefficient.

"What is it?" Torval asked the robot.

"Malastaire porridge," answered the droid.

"Is it fresh?"

"It is cooked."

The droid rolled out of the room before Torval could ask for something else. He dabbed the sludge with a finger, scowled and pushed the platter away. The comforts of a Sith fortress did not improve his appetite. He settled back on his cot and waited.

_Two weeks_, he repeated over and over in his head. It was important to have a sense of time in a room without windows. There was no clock on the wall, and his personal timepiece had been confiscated. But he was fairly certain that he had stayed here for two weeks. His Sith hosts were in no hurry to receive him.

Dominus had requested quarters for his guest, but his sons put Torval in a prison cell. The bedroll, toilet and water basin had not been used for some time. There were pits of dry blood in the corners of the cell, bits of biological matter that the droid cleaners failed to expunge. If prisoners were ever received at the citadel, they did not stay for long.

Torval could have sliced through the door with his lightsabers, but that would be unproductive. He was locked in this room for an important reason. After making him run through that terrifying maze to test his endurance, Darth Dominus now wished to test his patience. The cell was barely large enough for a man to stay prostrate on the floor. An annoying light fixture in the ceiling flickered and fluttered, but never went out. The cell was very cold a few hours ago, but now it was very hot. Only the servant droid came to visit him, and even then to deliver bland, inedible food. These irritating conditions were meant to gauge his strength of character.

He imagined what a volcanic monster like Erader could do if confronted with such a simple test. His brother Stigator had a cooler head. They were fledglings when it came to the Force, sharp but unfocused. It would take Dominus a few more years to reap their full potential, but much longer before one of the dark lords was ready to succeed him. Torval hoped to join their ranks before that.

A squad of security droids came to take him from his cell after dinner. They moved him swiftly through the adjacent corridors. Torval tried to memorize the passages to form a mental map of the fortress, but it was easy to become disoriented. The Sith citadel was designed to confuse and detain intruders. Torval would have been lost during his first visit if the Force had not guided him to Dominus.

The robot guards pulled up to an open door and shoved him inside. Torval found himself in a circular room with very high walls. A few beams of light were cast on the floor, but the rest of the chamber was encased in darkness. This dismal setting was what the Sith considered to be interior design. Torval stood motionless in the center, letting the Force enhance his senses. He felt the presence of all three dark lords. Then the room became clear to him. It was another arena like the one that nearly killed him, and the Sith were here to enjoy a show.

"More entertainment, Lord Dominus?" called out the renegade.

His voice echoed off the curved walls. He glanced dubiously at the floor, although there were no signs of a trap door.

A new light switched on above the wall, revealing a balcony. Dominus and his dark apprentices were seated there.

"You have proven much to us thus far," said the Sith Master. "There is no doubt to your prowess with a lightsaber. There is no disputing your martial abilities. There is no sense in refuting your cunning or intellect. Your quality as a warrior is easily acknowledged. But many questions are presented when we examine a Dark Jedi. The trials answer what we need to know. Only two questions remain in your ordeals."

"Name them," Torval demanded.

"Let us begin with the first, your loyalty."

"Have I not pledged myself to follow the Banner of Dominus?"

"Indirectly, informally and incorrectly," answered Darth Stigator, sitting to the left of his master. "Any fool can craft a lie, and any fool can believe him."

Dominus raised a hand to silence his son. Erader, sitting to his right, had nothing to contribute. That one was anxious about something. Torval did not lessen his guard for an instant.

"What my apprentice means to say is that loyalty is not a fixed structure. An ambitious killer can build walls of deception around an allegiance. So we will determine if you, Orlivan Torval, are anchored to another authority."

Another door slid open on the circular wall. A pair of assault droids emerged, dragging a humanoid creature behind them. The figure was hooded, bound, and curled in a fetal position. It bumped into their metal limbs as the droids halted in the arena. They released the bindings on their captive and threw off the hood. Torval stared at the Sith prisoner with newfound curiosity.

It was a female Twi'lek, dressed head to toe in tattered rags. The figure slowly sat up, but went rigid at the sight of the Sith on the balcony. She had clearly been tortured. Her face was bruised. One of her curled head tails had been sliced off. The woman's wrists had the marks of a long history of shackles, wire and cord. There was no telling what other injuries she sustained. The dark lords, probably Erader in particular, had beaten her senseless. She was tormented long after a fruitless and painful interrogation.

Dominus dismissed the droids with a signal. He leaned over the balcony and called to the woman. "Come closer, my dear! Don't be afraid. I have a guest I want you to meet."

The Twi'lek struggled to her feet. The alien glanced at Torval with primal eyes that put the rogue off guard. There was defiance in that gaze, and fearlessness. The alien looked familiar to him. Torval sensed a closeness that had nothing to do with their common captivity.

She relaxed her piercing stare after a moment, and her bruised face brightened.

"Orlivan?" she rasped. "Is that you?"

Torval shifted into a defensive position. How could she know his name? He reached out with the Force and was astounded to feel it flowing around her like a moving pillar of light. It was an armor of grace and strength. Only a Jedi could leave that impression. Torval tried to remember all the Twi'leks in the Jedi Order, and it was that correlation that finally identified her.

"Sonad," he said. "You're Sonad, aren't you? What are you doing here?

"What does it look like?" she snapped. There was acid in her voice.

"Jedi talked about you on Coruscant. They said you were dead."

Her eyes drifted to the Sith in their spectator seats. "Not surprising."

"Master Sonad has been our guest for some time," spoke Dominus from above. "You can understand her response, Torval. The pitiful Republic and your precious order have forgotten her."

The Twi'lek turned her attention to the renegade. "What have you done, Orlivan? I sense deep hatred in you. It sits like a vat of poison. Have you found refuge with these vipers?"

"You know nothing about my hate," stated the rogue. "Absolutely nothing. Cleansing the soul was all the Jedi ever talked about, but those words are useless. They no longer cloud my judgment. Don't you feel the same way? Haven't their teachings proved useless to those who give their lives to Coruscant? We have been cast away. They've never helped us when we needed them most."

"How sad," quipped Stigator. Erader burst out in demonic cackling.

The captive Twi'lek slowly shook her head. "All that time spent in deep space must have taken its toll. You needed a new strength. Was your fallen master the catalyst for this perverse reality? You tried to replace what you lost on Crathattick."

Torval shifted forward so quickly that Sonad went on guard. He could have struck her, but his hands remained at his sides.

"Do not mention that place again," he growled.

Sonad took a deep breath and shuddered. "It's true. You really have touched the dark side."

"It is a better destiny than anything I could have asked for."

"You have betrayed us!"

Dominus clapped his hands together, and the two Jedi fell silent. They turned as a third door slid open in the wall. An unguarded corridor was revealed beyond. The Jedi hesitated. It was not the chance for escape that attracted them, but the fresh air that flowed out of the corridor. That route led to the planet's surface. Neither captive had left the fortress.

"Opportunity is made, never discovered," said Dominus. "A survivor controls his fate, controls his world, controls his surroundings. Opportunity is a door that can be opened at any time. A Sith apprentice is trained to control everything in a malleable universe. There is only one requirement. Kill anyone that stands in his way."

Sonad caught on to the dark lord's intimations. "Death is your only language!" she barked at him. "The Sith are trapped in an endless cycle of destruction. You have never sought a better way of life."

"True of all warriors, my dear," answered Dominus. "I do not deny that we tortured you without end. We needed information. Since you gave us nothing, we were content to further your punishment. You spent a long time in isolation, hurt and ignored. But this is a special day for you. I am giving you the opportunity to go home."

"I'm not playing any more games! No Jedi would be toyed with for your amusement."

Torval found some of her spiteful comments to mirror his own feelings, but he did not declare it. By the look of her weary appearance she had probably visited Erader's tunnels before.

"No more games," Dominus assured her. "Look there, to your left. Can you see the open tunnel? It leads to a launch pad. Waiting on the platform is my fastest shuttle. The ship is programmed to fly you into orbit and jump into hyperspace without triggering the heavy guns in my citadel. It will take you back to the Republic. You have no value to us, Sonad. One more Jedi returned to Coruscant is no concern of ours."

Sonad took a hard look down the passage. It was unbearably tempting to summon her remaining strength and run. But she knew better than to go any further. The Sith were princes in a court of trickery. There was always a catch. She turned her attention to the still figure of Orlivan Torval.

"And how does your other prisoner fit into this?" the Twi'lek asked Dominus, although she already suspected the answer.

Torval huffed at her. "I am to fight you. That is what Lord Dominus desires."

"Fight her?" The Sith Master laughed softly for a moment. "A fight between the pair of you could go on without end. You miss the point, Torval. We want you to kill her. With that pursuit in mind, the match will not last long."

"Murder as my proof of loyalty, my lord?"

"Yes, Torval. Proof."

Stigator leaned over the wall to address the warriors. "A sample of Torval's blood was taken during his fight in the tunnels. That DNA has been used to program a biometric reader in the shuttle computer. His body is the actual trigger for the flight sequence. Therefore, Torval must be present on the ship if you wish to leave the planet."

"Dead or alive," Erader snickered.

"I will be rid of two Jedi knights tonight," Dominus explained. "This can be accomplished in a number of ways. Torval can kill Sonad and prove himself to the Sith order. Sonad can kill Torval and drag his corpse into the shuttle. The two champions can slay each other. But if you are unable to deliver a proper deathstroke, or have a change of heart, then I will destroy you both and feed your remains to Erader's pets."

"Brilliant, my lord," said Orlivan. "I commend you on your creativity. In ancient times, this would make excellent sport for millions of spectators."

Dominus pointed into the pit. "Give Sonad her lightsaber, Stigator. She has not held it in years."

Stigator tossed a silver object into the air. Time stood still as the warriors watched the instrument fall to its owner. In that flickering instant, Torval and Sonad considered the odds. Death was the order of the day. It was survival. It was a choice. It was to live and die by the sword. In that horrible pause did both make a decison to change everything.

Torval's lightsaber was already ignited as the weapon sailed through the air, but Sonad didn't wait to catch it. She threw out her hand, sending a wave of Force energy into the black-clad figure. Torval felt an invisible wall blast the air from his lungs. He was slammed into the arena wall and saw blackness darker than any part of the tunnel maze.

Sonad charged him as he blinked the dark spots from his vision. Her blue lightsaber was held high above her head for a killing stroke. Torval flipped into the air, barely escaping her downward chop. The blue saber sliced into the arena wall, leaving a freshly burned tear in the surface.

She was a furnace of passion, this tortured Twi'lek. The woman was back upon him as he landed on the floor. There was no room for aristry. Torval had to match her ferocity or die. Red and blue beams crackled and flashed together. They flew around them in a killing field of dazzling arcs and lines. The tattered rags of Sonad's tunic intermingled with the black fabric of Torval's cloak. They piroutted and rolled like acrobats.

Torval hadn't killed since Crathattick. The mere mention of the hell world made him remember everything about the Sith savages that butchered his brothers and sisters. He tried to forget the images, but it was too late. The daymares came to him on cue. He suddenly pictured his fallen master with a red beam bursting through his chest. Torval groaned as an avalanche of turmoiled memories buried his mind and soul.

The Dark Jedi felt engulfed by fire. He didn't want Dominus to see the brunt of his emotions. He showed his talents as a calculating fighter, but now the dark lord put him in a position where emotion was his only defense. The dark side drank from hate, rage, and suffering. The dark side was a tsunami of anger that could flatten anything.

Sonad was startled by the outpour of energy from her former comrade. She ducked an attack, went low and tried to strike his torso. Torval growled like a wolf and smashed at her with his lightsaber. She rolled around the room looking for a way to attack, but the rogue was upon her like a storm.

From his perch on the balcony, Dominus watched the duel with fascination. This was the fight he wanted from Torval, the passionate war he had done so well to conceal. It had all started on Crathattick where devils had possessed him. Now the rage was uncorked like bottled lightning, and the captive Jedi could do nothing to stop it.

"Stop this, Orlivan!" cried Sonad between parries. "Come back to us! Remember your friends!"

"Friends?" hissed the warrior. "I have no friends! I have nothing!"

He spun into a blur and kicked her savagely in the stomach. She toppled to the floor, but scurried aside before Torval's blade nearly decapitated her legs.

"You'll have no future here!" she gasped in pain. "The abyss will consume you!"

Torval would not listen. Sonad was righteous and skilled, but no match for the powers of a Dark Jedi. Torval bared his superiority like a shield in front of him. She needed a demonstration of his powers, like the two pompous brothers that watched him from the balcony.

"Run for the shuttle, Sonad," he taunted. "It's your only chance. Try to fly the craft without me. Perhaps you can hot-wire a booster by the time I run you through."

She was chilled by the evil in his voice. Sonad leaped into the air and kicked him squarely in the jaw. A bloody tooth flew out of his mouth. He only shrugged off the blow and kept fighting. Her lightsaber darted an inch above his chest but couldn't break his defenses. Torval's rampart of anger was just too strong.

The Twi'lek felt a touch of fresh air from the open corridor and finally decided to run. Perhaps she could hide in the wastes of the Sith planet or disguise herself as one of the dark lord's mercenaries. Escape was her only chance. She feinted a lunge at her opponent, then dashed through the door as Torval jumped away.

Her Force-trained senses blared at her. She spun and batted away Torval's lightsaber as it hurtled after her body. But to her horror, a second lightsaber was thrown behind the first. She hadn't the time or space to block them both. In the fraction of a second, the weapon went low and passed effortlessly into her body. Sonad felt a burst of fire in her chest, staggered into a wall and collapsed.

Torval opened his palms, called upon the Force and pulled his sabers back to him. The dark warrior slipped the death blades under his cape and came forward.

"It's done," gasped the Jedi as blood escaped her lips, "The hate has sealed your destiny."

Orlivan observed the veil of death cover her face. "You fought well. They will remember you back home. A statuete of your likeness will be placed in the Jedi library. You were a spearhead of the Republic."

Tears streamed from her eyes. "Aren't you afraid? Afraid of what will happen to you? Tell me the truth, Orlivan."

The warrior crouched before the dying Twi'lek and recovered her weapon. He examined the lightsaber closely, measuring its weight in his hands. With swift and expert motion, he dismantled the weapon and tucked the components in his belt.

"The dark side has come for me," he whispered. "I dare not refuse its power. But yes, I am very much afraid."

The Twi'lek smiled warmly in her final moment of life.

"My spirit will watch over you."

Torval twitched, a spasm of emotion on his face. But he recovered quickly and stood up.

"I have no need of spirits, Jedi. Close your eyes and die."

Dominus and his apprentices were waiting in the arena when he returned. Stigator and Erader were brandishing their lightsabers. Torval paused in the door, wondering what they wanted. Was he expected to run after this violent act, or did the Sith expect him to attack them in anger?

"Loyalty?" he spat at them. "Must you waste my time with such nonsense? Talk means nothing! Action means everything!"

Dominus nodded. "Yes, it most certainly does. Action has defined your new life. You are strong with the dark side."

Torval hesitated. It was uncomfortably easy to feel the dark side coursing through his veins. A mighty dragon nested in his soul. It would come when needed to consume his enemies. This was the very core of Sith power.

"I can feel it," he breathed. "I feel it everywhere."

"You spoke of my unorthodoxy," said Dominus. "It is not common for a Sith Master to teach two apprentices instead of one. But the other sects do not know how to harness real power. That is their loss! Tonight, my power has tripled. I will have three apprentices instead of two!"

Stigator and Erader raised their lightsabers in salute. Dominus extended his palms toward the warrior.

"Kneel before me."

Torval dropped to the ground. The dark side swelled around him like a churning ocean. He was obedient and submissive, willing to commit any act for the Sith as retainer. It was intoxicating.

"Do you swear allegiance to the Banner of Dominus?" asked the dark lord.

"Yes, my master."

"Will you go to war at my command?"

"At any moment."

"Will you bring death to my enemies? Will you become a harbinger of doom for thousands, millions or even billions?"

"Without question, my lord."

"Then your final trial is service to me. Your ordeal is to live the reality of a Sith lord, to grow strong, and to wield the Force as I see fit. Let the galaxy know that a Jedi knight has fled from his religion and turned to the dark side! Let the galaxy know that Orlivan Torval is no more!"

"Name him, Father!" shouted Stigator. "Bring him to our sect!"

"We will call you Darth Shade," said Lord Dominus. "He who brings the shadows to all that is light. Come, my worthy apprentice, and join us."

The dragon stirred within. He felt his very identity drop into oblivion, and something terrible walk forth. It took control of his destiny. Darth Shade stood firmly before his Sith brothers and followed them out of the arena.


	7. Chapter 7

[Disclaimer: Star Wars fanfiction is based upon the Star Wars movies of the same name. All characters and situations other than my own are the property of George Lucas, 20th Century Fox and whoever else makes a ton of cash with that outstanding evolutionary franchise.]

**Chapter 7: The threat to Albernon**

Prime Minister Bannon spent her days in the Albernon parliament arguing repeatedly with the opposition party. She knew her chances at surviving the legislative bouts that came with each proposition. Sometimes it felt as if all the world's delegates were against her. It was difficult to gather support and make her case when the lions roared in her ears.

Her aide stuck to her heels as she exited the parliament building after a long day of debates. She was more anxious to leave than usual.

"Shall I have dinner prepared in your office, Madame?" he asked as they walked toward her transport.

"Not tonight," Bannon sighed. "Clear my schedule for the evening. No more calls. I'm going home."

"The capital spending initiative has troubled you, Madame. The MP's are voracious when it comes to itemized expenditures."

"I am well aware of that," she replied, "but there are times when I can't bear to listen to them. They sound like wild boars. Even their clerk droids have an ugly demeanor about them."

They walked briskly across the capital square to her waiting hover car. But much to their surprise, an elderly figure was waiting inside on the cushioned seats. Bannon's first instinct was to summon a guard, but something made her pause in doing so. The old man was familiar to her. They had met before.

"What is the meaning of this?" cried the aide to the stranger. "This is an official vehicle of the Prime Minister!"

Ivos Maddaus peered at the young man from under his hood. He casually waved a bony finger at him.

"I am a friend of the prime minister."

The aide hesitated, visibly confused by the statement.

"You are a friend of the prime minister," he dumbly repeated.

"I must speak with Madame Bannon alone."

"You must speak with Madame Bannon alone," he echoed.

"Have a pleasant evening," said the Jedi Master.

The young aide climbed out of the car without argument. "Have a pleasant evening, sir. Good night, Prime Minister."

The door was slid shut and locked. At a command from Maddaus, the droid operator started the hover car and turned into city traffic.

Bannon was simply fascinated by the Jedi mind trick that compelled her aide to leave. She looked through the windows as her subordinate strolled back to his office, completely oblivious to what had just transpired! Bannon did not expect this impromptu meeting but knew his presence had to be warranted. Ivos Maddaus did not make personal calls.

"What are you doing on Albernon?" she asked him.

Maddaus smiled as he rolled back his hood. A mane of snowy white hair, bushy and twisted, spilled across his shoulders. "You look well, Bannon. I am pleased to see that your political career has ripened."

"Ripened? Some would call it rotting."

"Opposition comes and goes, but the issues remain the same. Your oration and initiatives have left a lasting impression on your citizens. They like you. Your debates demonstrate your resolve."

"I can't convince everyone," she sighed. "Planetary development is the most daunting endeavor for a leader. I should have stayed in provincial politics. Things were so much simpler when I was governor of Nellus."

"You have grown sentimental, Bannon."

"I remember that hostage crisis like it was yesterday. Gods, there were moments when I feared the worst. Thirty casualties could have crushed the public's spirit. If you hadn't visited Nellus at the time, the rescue mission could have gone horribly wrong."

"I only played a small part that day, Prime Minister. Your authority held everything together."

Bannon motioned at her robed passenger. "I seem to recall a younger Jedi Knight jumping over the rooftops. You seem to have chosen a more comfortable mode of transportation in your elder years."

"Indeed I have, Prime Minister. I apologize for the inappropriate manner of my visit. It was essential that I met you directly without any outside monitors."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"The Sith are coming to Albernon, Bannon. Your planet is in jeopardy."

She ordered her droid to drive them to her estate in Nellus. Maddaus would say nothing more in the car. He closed his eyes and dozed for the rest of the ride. It was only after they reached the lush grounds of her family home that the Jedi Master started to speak.

"I have orchestrated secret campaigns for the Jedi Order since before you were born," he explained. "My purpose on Coruscant is to seek out threats in the farthest corners of the galaxy, where evil is real and secluded. There are creatures in this universe that have no fear of the Republic. There are enemies that could bring an apocalypse to billions if power was assured to them. I speak of the dark lords of the Sith, servants of the dark side and a constant shadow in our lives."

"The Sith? They're only a legend."

"No, Bannon. The Sith are as real as the Jedi. They come and go with the ages, always to conquer, always to kill. We have fought them for thousands of years. You know better than to treat them as myth. Everyone in the galaxy fears the Sith."

"But I thought the Jedi wiped them out in battle. There was an event on Ruusan, wasn't there?"

"There have been several decisive battles where our ancient enemy has succumbed to exile or extermination. Yet still they return, full of blood lust and vengeance. The Jedi Council has been wary of a few active sects that could return the Sith to their glory days. I have endeavored to prevent this for many years."

"What could a Sith lord do to my planet?" asked Bannon.

"I cannot say!" cried Maddaus, pointing a finger to his temple. "The problem has turned me to the brink of insanity. I look like a rambling old crone to my fellow Jedi. The council worries about my health. Three years ago, I was very much disturbed by a ripple in the Force, a feeling of imminent doom. I took a sabbatical and entered an extended trance to explore this danger. The Force narrowed my vision to a distant pocket of the galaxy where I found a Sith mastermind. I know him, Prime Minister. His sect is most dangerous."

"And your vision includes Albernon as well?"

Maddaus watched out his window as the sky rises of the capital bowed to the lovely hills and forests of the Albernon countryside. "I have seen this planet too often in my trances. I see people falling into fire, cities smashed into ruin. The Sith and their bloodthirsty minions are everywhere. Albernon is not destroyed, but remade into something hideous and dreadful."

The Prime Minister listened calmly to the prophetic death of her home world. She concealed her apprehension well. She was accustomed to daily security briefings from her militia commanders. They could speak of planetary threats with heightened alarm. Albernon was a distinguished and prosperous world, but hardly immune to random acts of terrorism, crime and interplanetary conflict. Her people had weathered global crises before. Sod's Pirates once raided their merchant fleet for a seven months. The Inner Sea Virus plagued half the planet's fish supply for a year. There was also the Bokka Island Fusion Incident that almost vaporized the nation of Mosetia. In moments of such dread, it did no good to react erratically. Leaders had to demonstrate calm and resolve. And she had learned before to trust the words of this Jedi Master.

"The Sith would do well to attack us," she remarked. "Albernon is an industrial gem in the galactic economy. We have shipbuilding yards, systems development, and fast fabrication plants. To seize this planet would be to seize all of its assets and the profit that can be earned from them."

The Jedi nodded in agreement. "It is no small feat to invade a planet, but the warlord in my dreams is capable of doing just that. Some dark lords were born to destroy and conquer. For him, your world would make a prize of prizes."

She smiled at him. "Well, then. I don't suppose you've brought along a Republic army or some of your Jedi knights?"

"I'm afraid not, Madame. The Republic military has come to the aid of besieged worlds before, but past and present campaigns have depleted its resources. It takes time to reform an army and restore its combat strength. The Jedi are equally preoccupied with far away missions. Our knights are few and far between."

"You don't have to make excuses for me, Maddaus. I realize the situation all too well. Albernon is not a member of the Republic. Our parliament has never considered joining your government, not when our industrial strength and freedom of movement has given us influence in galactic trade. But that is precisely why your Galactic Senate would be slow to intervene if Albernon were attacked. Some of your senators represent worlds that have much to gain financially from our demise, even if it happens at the hands of a Sith Master. We're competitors, after all. Competitors were meant to die."

Maddaus frowned under his bushy beard. "You see things clearly, Prime Minister."

Bannon maintained her composure. A prime minister could prepare herself for danger, but it took more than personal readiness to guard the planet. She began to envision all the government resources needed to defend her world. Some of those assets would have to be mobilized immediately.

"It is up to us, then. I am grateful for your warning. Albernon will do what it can to protect itself."

"You are not alone, Bannon. I did not leave you on Nellus during the hostage crisis. I will not leave you now."

"Then I am equally grateful for your help. We have much to discuss, and even more to prepare."

"I suggest you meet with your military and agency directors in private. Rumors of an invasion cannot make it to the media. Publicity is a weapon even to the Sith."

Bannon was already thinking along those lines. "The threat can be concealed. Word of invasion will be circulated among only my most trusted advisors. I will not communicate this threat to parliament, at least not for the moment."

"Is that wise? Surely you need the support of the entire government."

"You have been away too long, Maddaus. My political opponents are politically entrenched. If I were to announce a global threat, even one involving the Sith, they would use the moment to slander me. Our representatives do not always function as one body. They are quick to accuse my appointed officials of negligence. The opposition leader is my biggest adversary in the parliament building. He is the ringleader against most of my initiatives and a skilled organizer. I might be overpowered by his inquests as the first bombs fall on my cities."

"You are still Prime Minister," said the old man. "The people will listen to you."

"I hope you're right, Maddaus. This world is nothing without them."

"We will see it through. If Albernon is to be a battlefront, then we will make it an ordeal for the Sith!"


	8. Chapter 8

[Disclaimer: Star Wars fanfiction is based upon the Star Wars movies of the same name. All characters and situations other than my own are the property of George Lucas, 20th Century Fox and whoever else makes a ton of cash with that outstanding evolutionary franchise.]

**Chapter 8. Welcome to Rithoth**

The _Lotus _touched down at the Rithoth spaceport, located in the planetary capital, on a busy Tuesday morning. The skies were full of commuter airships, patrol craft and space freighters. Garollian Bard locked up his ship on a corner of the launch pad, cleared his arrival with the authorities and took the public tram out of the spaceport. He kept clear of the car windows as soon as his train left the Alpha Zone. There weren't many accidents in this part of Rithoth City or the industrial Beta Zone, but Gamma and Delta zones were full of surprises. Moving between city sectors was dangerous. Sometimes a gang took shots at the trains as they sped across the elevated tramways. Shooters liked to use cheap projectile rifles and armor-piercing slugs. The trams were supposedly armored, but a streetwise commuter knew better. Sometimes a lucky bullet broke through and ruined someone's day.

He also had reason to be worried about the passengers. Rithoth City was a zoo and an asylum draped in the facade of a modern super metropolis. Times were tough here. Sometimes a person just lost control and attacked a random citizen. Sometimes a thug got inside a commuter vehicle and mugged the riders. City police weren't very tactful when it came to handling these situations. In the event of a serious incident on the tramway, the cops could flood the trains with knockout gas and sort the mess out later.

The courier pilot tried to settle his nerves by thinking about the job at hand. Maddaus noted that the Republic agent was working in Gamma Zone as a masseuse named Htoh-Ri. The city information network had no record of her, but Bard expected that. Rithoth City was one of the most crime-infested cities in the galaxy. Few residents kept a public listing. Recording the location of your home was an invitation to get stabbed, robbed and forgotten. Some burglars were known to run through apartment blocks like shoppers in an arcade. If Bard was going to find a Republic agent in this maze, he'd have to hit the streets and find someone who knew or recognized her.

The public tram suddenly halted before the next station. A droid operator in the forward cab sent an alarming voice message to the passengers: the rail up ahead was on fire.

"Not another fire!" groaned a commuter. "I've been late for work for the last week!"

"One of the gangs," said another. "They own the next five blocks."

Bard grew uneasy. The train was only a few meters from the border of Gamma Zone. Their necks craned toward the windows as a rescue airship swooped over the track, laying down a stream of fire-suppressing foam. The flames were doused, and the train creeped up to the platform. The tram doors opened and Bard joined several hundred passengers in a rush for safety. They scampered into a cloud of smoke and down the stairs to the street below. Transit alarms and police sirens filled their ears. It was a confusing, dangerous place.

"Keep moving," chirped a security droid below the station entrance. "Please proceed to sidewalk."

Smoke poured off the elevated tramway like a sick and blackened waterfall. Bard's eyes began water. He stumbled out of the crowd, wiped a sleeve over his face and looked around. Hundreds of citizens from different alien species were walking calmly around the street. They were used to the violence. Most were going to work and trying to stay out of trouble. But this was a gang attack. The ones who set fire to the tram station were probably nearby. He watched a police shuttle hover over an adjacent building, searching for firebombers. Bard was bothered by the surprising lack of real panic with these commuters. Why did he feel like the second punch was coming?

It happened quickly. Bard peered through the smokescreen as a groundcar came charging down the street toward the station. Pedestrians shouted as they jumped out of its path. Bard could see the driver through the windshield, a scaled yellow face with dark eyes leaning over the wheel. It looked like a Tormolan. Tormolans were violent creatures. They absolutely hated other aliens. In fact, they only came to Republic planets to kill Republic citizens. This one was driving straight for the mob of commuters that was pouring off the rail platform.

Bard leaped off the curb, knocking over the police droid. He snapped out his blaster and fired at the yellow face behind the steering wheel. A red bolt pierced the groundcar like a needle through paper, and the Tormolan went down. The alien slumped against the dash and caused the car to swerve into a parked bus. Metal crunched into metal and people started to scream.

Bard ran toward the crumpled vehicle and saw the Tormolan struggling in its seat. His blaster had cored the alien like an apple, but the creature still lived. The alien groped for a button on the dash. It looked like a detonator. Bard fired two more times and finished the Tormolan. Its hand fell from the button.

Metal fingers slipped around his bicep. Bard saw the police droid in the corner of his eye and instinctively rammed his elbow into its head. The droid clattered to the pavement. The crowd opened up around him as he stepped back, and Bard suddenly realized his predicament. He just saved the people from a terrorist attack, but to an ordinary bystander, he was the only stranger holding a gun.

The police droid recorded a crisp, clear image of Garollian Bard as it tried to get up. The courier pilot made a hasty decision and fired point-blank at the droid. People screamed even louder as the robot's head exploded. Then Bard was back into the crowd, running for his life.

He was five blocks away from the elevated tram when the sounds of sirens grew distant and forgotten. Bard's chest hurt. Starship pilots didn't do much sprinting. Things were so much simpler when he gripped the controls of the _Lotus _and flew out of trouble. He cursed the old Jedi as he moved from street to street. The brewing chaos wasn't part of his stupid orders!

After the sixth block he began to wonder why there weren't any police at all. He didn't see any roving security cars, hovering ships, or armored officers. In fact, the streets were very quiet. This was Gamma Zone, and the police only showed up in the company of the Rithoth military.

A series of rundown apartment buildings loomed up around him. Everything here was cracked and discolored. Some of the doors were covered with plastic sheets. Faded municipal signs marked many of these structures as condemned, but the dispossessed of Rithoth City undoubtedly found refuge here. Bard walked clear of any open portals and windows. This could be a shooting gallery for rival gangs or a hidden lair for some very nasty thugs.

The only sign of life on the dismal lane was an automated vending shop on the street corner. He went inside to catch his breath and collect his bearings. It wasn't much of a store, simply a row of five machines with credit outlets and dispensing slots. Display screens offered him a variety of alien foodstuffs. He scowled when he saw some of the choices. Gammorean rat stew was on the menu! The stuff came out of the machines in sealed packages that hid its horrific aroma. Bard tried the stew only once, and for good reason.

A clerk sat behind a window reinforced with steel mesh. Some of the walls in the store were riddled with bullet holes and scorch marks. Bard nodded to the man as he went to the nearest machine. He inserted a credit chip and ordered coffee. The device poured something like the beverage into a plastic cup and slid it toward him. He took the cup in his hands and leaned against the machine.

"I'm looking for a masseuse," he told the clerk. "It's been a long day."

"None of those pleasures here," answered the man. "This is a ghost town."

"Why is that?"

The clerk seemed surprised. "Are you a new body?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Anyone passing into Gamma Zone is fresh meat. If you don't find a hiding place or a gun, you'll be turned into scraps for the sewer dogs."

Bard smiled. "I'll try to keep myself from turning into somebody's lunch. Where are all the people? Did the gangs clear them out?"

"No gangs," muttured the clerk. "Just droids."

"What droids?"

"There's a terrorist cell in the city run by a 'bot called Slice."

Bard found the news disturbing. What was going on in this city?

"Slice," he repeated. "Funny name. Are we just talking about a robot with bad programming?"

"You don't get it, pal. Slice hates every living thing in this city. He's a system hacker. You'd better start running if you see even the friendliest droid. Slice has rewired a lot of them in Gamma Zone. They usually roll up to public areas and explode, or sabotage the city grids. If my vending machines weren't stand-alones, I'd be dead by now."

"So why haven't you left?"

"I can't sell out! I need money to leave the damned city just like everyone else."

Bard put a hundred-credit chip on the window counter. "Maybe I can help you get there. Where would I find a masseuse in Gamma?"

The clerk reached through an opening in the wire mesh to retrieve the chip. He turned it over in his hands and nodded in satisfaction.

"Not many in Gamma, that's for sure. Who has money for that? Still, I'd head to the southeast block. Rengo the Hutt runs an entertainment club called the NovaLux. It's full of dancers, bars, gambling. If you're looking for a masseuse, you'll find one there."

The agent called Cirrus was dangerously close to the artificial killing machine. She was hunting a fully sentient droid, but one far from any ordinary robot. Rather than serve alien species like the rest of its kind, this one preferred to annihilate them. It had a distinct personality and a definite purpose. It also had a name. Republic Intelligence called him Slice.

She spent weeks in the data fields of Rithoth City trying to sniff him out. Nobody knew what he looked like, but he had a singular presence in the networks. Slice always left behind a few snippets of corrupted data whenever he hacked into an unsuspecting droid. They could be followed like breadcrumbs. He had jacked enough robots for her to create a tracking pattern. Slice may have thought himself invisible in the bullet-ridden streets of Rithoth City, but this digital evidence proved him wrong. A droid garbage smasher was accessed on Tuesday. A spider droid that fixed the sewer piping in Beta Zone was hacked a day later. Two automated taxis were stolen on Thursday. Three welding droids at the Alpha spaceport were pinged this morning.

Citizens stayed clear of droids. They knew what Slice could do with a stolen robot. He didn't fear police or Republic investigators. He was a bloody, metallic monster that moved quietly through the zones slaughtering aliens with perverse enjoyment.

The Galactic Senate was getting tired of emergency appropriations for the local security forces. The last financial injection was wasted in police actions that did nothing to pacify the zones. A runaway droid was the least of their concern, even if it managed to turn other droids into bombs and terrorize the populated blocks. Nevertheless, the Republic made a wise choice in sending her to Rithoth.

She was the only agent that could get to Slice before he killed anyone else.

Her monitor implant felt sore today. She had interfaced with the grids for the last six hours without any time to rest or eat. Medically speaking, the data chip put a considerable burden on her. The doctors were concerned for her health, but she couldn't think about the side effects as she got closer to her target. How else could she look for that monster? The mission had priority over everything, including her neurology. The implant was worth all the surgery and therapy. It was worth all the strange dreams, all the warnings, all the intuitive behavior that kept her alive on Rithoth. If she couldn't catch Slice in the networks, it would all be for nothing.

Cirrus got her first break this morning. She finally caught up to him at a condemned electrical substation on the edge of Gamma Zone. This was where he went to recharge. Slice was summoning his rewired minions to this location and probably stockpiled the building with parts to make bombs. The terrorist droid would cheerfully arm the 'bots and send them back to their urban assignments. He would trigger their detonators remotely, kill scores of aliens and watch the chaos unfurl.

_No more bombings, Slice_, she whispered into ethereal data space. _I'm watching you day and night. I'm going to get you._

Bard spent another hundred credits at the door of the NovaLux to bribe the bouncer for information. He learned that Htoh-Ri was definitely employed at the club. She kept a parlor on the third floor under contract with Rengo the Hutt.

He slipped through the front entrance and practically climbed through a noisy crowd of gamblers, dancers and drinkers. None of the customers seemed bothered that their entertainment was obtained in the middle of an urban war zone. He suspected that several customers were gang members and off-duty police officers. It looked like NovaLux was acceptable neutral ground for wanted criminals and the besieged citizenry to unwind.

The NovaLux offered all kinds of "specialists" for entertainment. Rengo the Hutt kept oracles, gypsies, healers and harlots to meet the many preferences of his clients. That variety had some effect on people that could pay for it. It kept their mind off the gang wars, the poverty and the misery. Bard had seen similar havens during his space travels. A person faced the same routine and the same trap. Entertainment poured from the rafters until your credits ran out, and then you were back to wherever you came from.

Bard took the elevator to the third floor and followed the bouncer's directions to the fifth door on his right. A nameplate was missing on the door. Curiously, this was the only door that wasn't a sliding portal. He noticed that two of the three hinges were recently replaced. Bard regarded the entrance with suspicion. If this was where Cirrus set up shop, the room was renovated with secret gadgets to repel unwanted visitors. He took a wild guess that the frame was wired with a strong electric current, and the shiny new door hinges were shaped charges. Not even a Wookie could force the door without getting maimed in the process. The raggedy carpet in the hallway was probably lined with motion sensors that monitored the floor. The lamp on the ceiling contained a hidden camera, or maybe a remote stunner. He didn't like the plastic seam around the door frame. It looked like a cleverly concealed shield emitter.

Bard took a deep breath and rapped on the door. There was no response. He knocked a second time and waited. No one answered. He thought about going down to the bar for a drink and coming back later. Smugglers didn't want to hang around anywhere for very long.

The door swung open as he turned to leave. The muzzle of a blaster rifle came out and poked the back of his head.

"Don't move," rasped a distorted voice.

Bard froze in mid-step. "I'm totally ice, lady."

"What makes you think I'm a woman?" asked the voice.

"Are you Htoh-Ri? I'm looking for a masseuse."

"Go away."

"Does that mean you're closed?"

"I'm not doing business today."

Bard tried not to laugh, despite the weapon put against his skull. Was this what a secret agent called covert?

"I'm not here to cause trouble," he spoke over his shoulder. "Believe me, I've got enough for myself."

"You're drunk."

"Lady, if I was drunk, it sure wouldn't be in a dump like Rithoth. I'm your ticket out of here, Cirrus. Ivos Maddaus sent me to find you."

The muzzle relaxed against his scalp. Bard wondered what Republic spies did in these situations. Was he going to be stunned, hauled inside and interrogated?

"Maddaus?" repeated the gunner, but the voice wasn't distorted. He heard a genuine female speak from the other end of the rifle.

"That's right," said Bard. "I work for him. I'm a courier pilot. He told me to find you in Gamma Zone. My ship is parked at the Alfa spaceport."

"I thought he'd call me first."

"He does the unexpected. If you knew him like I do, you'd understand."

"Maddaus really sent you? What's your codename?"

"Idiot First Class, ma'am."

"Don't get smart with me. I'll put a hole in your head the size of a dinner plate."

Bard sighed in irritation. "Look, you'd better be serious about this. I had a bad time getting here. The police are searching for me. I stopped a Tamorran from blowing up a train station outside of Gamma Zone."

The blaster dropped away.

"That was you in the news?" asked the female.

Bard slowly turned around with his hands in the air, trying not to provoke her. He saw a young woman behind him dressed in a utility jumpsuit. The blaster rifle was cradled in her arms, and a vocal distorter was hung around her neck. She had pretty features, but looked very tired. Bard noticed a small device on the side of her neck, an interface attached at the skin. It was an implant. Was the agent a hacker?

He caught a peek at the parlor behind her. There were decorative curtains and a cushioned bedroll, with a large armoire against the far wall. A shelf by the frosted window was lined with scented candles and an ornamental lamp. It was definitely a masseuse parlor, but Cirrus had hidden some interesting equipment here. A panel on the armoire was ajar, revealing the blinking lights of a systems console. A tapestry by the window was draped over a circuit panel. A computer on the floor appeared to be running a three-dimensional schematic of a city power grid. How did she sneak all these toys into the NovaLux without getting caught?

The woman noticed his interest in her parlor, but didn't refuse him. She motioned for him to enter. Bard quickly walked inside and she shut the door behind him.

"Mona Kuritas," greeted the agent. "I work for Republic Intelligence."

"Garollian Bard," replied the pilot. "You're not very subtle for a spy. Do you normally jump people in the hallway with blasters?"

"I can't believe Maddaus didn't call me," she grumbled. "He knows I'm very busy."

She dropped the rifle on the rug and settled onto the cushions. Her fingers reached out to the computer and tapped a few commands on the keyboard. A tiny indicator light flashed on the implant at her neck. She sighed and rubbed around the device.

"What's all this about?" asked Bard.

"Have you ever heard of a terrorist named Slice?"

Bard remembered the name from his conversation with the vending clerk. "He's some kind of runaway droid."

"He's a lot more than that. Republic Intelligence believes he was manufactured on Coruscant more than ten years ago. No one knows why he turned evil and started blowing up aliens. He's very intelligent. He knew he'd get caught on Coruscant. Too much network security. It was why he fled to Rithoth. The planet is less protected, and the gang wars make the perfect camouflage for his actions."

"I heard that he turns other droids into bombs."

"That's his favorite method. His cell is made up of rewired machines. Their memory files are usually wiped before they blow up, and that makes it hard for police to trace his whereabouts. He's herding another collection of stolen droids this week. The group is larger than usual. Slice is planning something big, but I've finally caught up to him. He's hiding in a power station here in Gamma Zone."

"How do you know?"

She tapped the implant on her neck. "My monitor chip has helped me scour the grids for weeks. I spend a lot of time in cyberspace. You have to concentrate to find a footprint in the data fields, even in a rundown city like this one."

"I ran into a police droid this morning, and the elevated train I took out of Alpha Zone was droid controlled. Why can't Slice get into those robots?"

"Slice hasn't been able to access the police network. He can tap into the transit droids, but the city is moving to replace their train operators with people. It's the only way they can protect themselves."

"Who'd want to replace a droid on a train? The gangs are still throwing fire bombs at the track."

"That's the problem. Slice is inadvertently helping the gangs. People are stuck no matter what happens. Look, Maddaus can't have me right now. I'm too close. If I do this right, Slice can be brought down. Don't worry about the police. You did them a favor. I'll make a call and clear things up."

Bard leaned against the armoire as she worked on her computer. In a strange way, this parlor felt more comfortable than anything he could find in Rithoth City. It was quiet here, and oddly peaceful.

"How long?"

"What do you mean?"

"How long until you get Slice?"

"At least a day. He needs that long to finish charging at the substation. He's still reeling in droids and equipping them with bombs. We won't let him get hurt the population with those things. And when the job is done I can finally get rid of this stupid masseuse cover."

"All right. Will you come with me after Slice is brought down?"

"Are you anxious to go home, Mr. Bard?"

"Home is anywhere but here. But Ivos Maddaus is a busy man. I don't pretend to know what goes on inside his Jedi mind. I only know that his missions are important. He wouldn't send me after you without a good reason. Why else do I get paid to jump through so many hoops? When your evil droid is caught, it might make sense for you to get off world as quickly as you can."

Mona Kuritas nodded without looking away from her screen. "Yeah, I know. I've worked with the old man ever since I was a kid."

"Really?"

"I'll go with you when the job is done."

Bard smiled in relief. He wanted nothing better than to sit behind the controls of the _Lotus _and blast into outer space.

"Then we have a deal. Anything you need me to do? Otherwise, I was going downstairs to have a drink."

"You should stay here. The bouncer who let you inside will assume you're a customer. And I need someone to watch the door while I'm under."

"Under what?"

Mona Kuritas tapped the implant on her neck. "I'm going to swim in the networks for a while. Just find a seat, Mr. Bard, and be quiet."


	9. Chapter 9

[Disclaimer: Star Wars fanfiction is based upon the Star Wars movies of the same name. All characters and situations other than my own are the property of George Lucas, 20th Century Fox and whoever else makes a ton of cash with that outstanding evolutionary franchise.]

**Chapter 9. Dining on questions**

For two days, Prime Minister Bannon remained in her family estate to work on the problem of protecting her homeworld. She complained to her aide about "a terrible headache from those infernal parliament sessions," which excused her from making any public appearances in the capital. But she did accept a handful of public officials to her home for private meetings. It was the only way she could meet with key people about Albernon's defenses without alerting her political enemies. One of those key people was an elderly man named Avraus, the Minister of Planetary Defense.

Avraus had his finger on the pulse of the Albernon militia, provincial constabulary, intelligence agency and global communications. She could trust him with news of an impending threat on their planet. Now was the time to confide in him, and to get answers that she badly needed. Yet it was unusual for Bannon to do this over lunch. The serious topic of invasion seemed difficult to broach over platters of roast Albernon quail.

"The Sith," muttered her defense official between mouthfuls of food. "Where did you hear this extraordinary rumor, Prime Minister?"

"An anonymous message through diplomatic channels," Bannon replied. She was compelled to lie about the Jedi Master who was hiding on her estate. She promised to keep his presence a secret from even her most trusted confidants until the time was right.

"I haven't heard of such a threat," said Avraus. "Their battles are the stuff of legend. They used to rip worlds apart. I was once privileged to read about the Sith in the Jedi archives on Coruscant. But I thought them to be ghosts of galactic history, nothing more."

"Some ghosts have a way of returning from the grave," Bannon replied. "Some ghosts can do more than scare us."

"I must honestly question your source of information, Madam. When it comes to interplanetary intelligence, it is difficult for us to validate an anonymous message, or devote our governmental resources to confirm it."

"That is why I've brought you to lunch, Avraus. My father spoke highly of you when the two of you served in the services. Hard intelligence is kept in your drawer, he once said. You're the one to ask about real evidence."

"I am flattered, Madam Bannon. Your father was a true servant of the people. But such a threat, if confirmed by my assets, would be announced to you at once. I have not been told of any dangers."

Bannon moved her plate to the edge of the table. She found little appetite since speaking with Ivos Maddaus.

"Avraus, the Sith are intangible. You can't hear or see them, but you will know when they approach. Their actions will be carefully hidden. Their plans will be difficult to uncover. I am bothered by the news of a possible invasion."

"Then how can we be sure of them? How can we guard the people against what can't be seen?"

"In this instance, you must use your imagination. Let us turn the whimsical into analytical. What are our true vulnerabilities? How would the Sith undermine our planetary defenses? Where would they strike, and in what strength? We must look inward to the very workings of our planet. Our vital infrastructure may be open to damage or destruction. Public officials, including myself, could be assassinated or kidnapped. Spies could bribe key managers in the cities and command centers. The Albernon militia could be routed, their weapons and vehicles sabotaged. Opposition leaders might even be encouraged to form a junta at the end of a coup. After my demise, of course."

"You speak of treason, Prime Minister?"

"All things are possible in war, my friend."

Avraus bowed his head in resignation. "I cannot begin to imagine how the Sith can do this."

"Yes, you can. You're an intelligent man, Avraus. And I have never known a better spymaster. I need your resources."

"Can you tell me who gave you this unidentified warning?"

"Not yet, Avraus."

"Perhaps we should send an encrypted communique to the Jedi Council on Coruscant. It would assure us of such dangers."

"No. We must be silent about this. If anyone outside my trusted circle of advisors heard about a Sith threat, it would jeopardize Albernon. The Sith timetable to invasion could be pushed ahead and we'd be doomed."

"Madam Bannon, may I ask why you invited the militia commanders to dinner at your estate this evening? As your minister of planetary defense, I should have been informed."

"There will be military exercises on all three continents next week. Emergency drills will test the readiness of our forces. The Sith cannot capture Albernon with trickery alone. They will attack with ships and land infantry. I want our troops to be ready, even if this threat proves false. Come to dinner tonight and help me coordinate this operation."

Avraus slowly nodded his head. "As you wish, Madam. But what of the chance of a conspiracy in parliament?"

"If the Sith have made an unholy alliance with the opposition party, then it has been done remarkably well. I will have to discern true enemies from political threats. Leave that to me, Avraus. Focus on the continental exercises for now. I also want your liaisons dispatched to the militia bases to watch the maneuvers and check for any gaps in our armor. Consult your intelligence network and report back to me as soon as you can."

Avraus departed the estate after lunch. Bannon watched him leave, then retired to her private study. Ivos Maddaus was waiting there.

"You heard our discussion?" she asked.

"I bugged the house before breakfast," answered the Jedi master. "I trust your defense minister will be adequate for the task?"

"He is a dedicated public servant. I have never seen him waver from the protection of Albernon. But the threat of a Sith coup and the destruction of our cities may be too much for him. I hope he can find the courage for our work."

"We need more than courage, Bannon. We need to discover the extent of the Sith's involvement in your planetary operations."

"Avraus will be helpful in that regard."

She glanced at her timepiece. "I must return to my office in Capital Square. We have negotations with the Trade Federation for shipbuilding materials."

The Jedi Master settled into a chair beside her. "I noticed this on your schedule, Prime Minister. While we are on the subject, might I suggest that we start moving our own pieces across the board? I need you to relocate your personal aide."

"Kelvin? What does my aide have to do with this?"

"He would make a fine nomination for ambassador to the Trade Federation."

"Why in blazes should I nominate him?" she demanded.

"For the same reason I have hidden at your estate, and for the same reason your dutiful subordinate has no memory of me riding in your car."

Bannon suppressed a shudder. "Are you saying my aide is a spy?"

Maddaus tucked his hands into the long sleeves of his robe. "Your man is an informant and a traitor, one of many spiders in the Sith web. I sensed it the moment he spoke to me. Mr. Kelvin has controlled your agenda schedule for the last two years. He is a perfect asset for the Sith war machine. Your movements have been well recorded for future reference."

"How could he be a spy?"

"Speak to Avraus and arrange an agent to pursue him for the next few days. I would imagine your aide has been speaking privately through third party channels to reach the dark lords. Albernon is a busy planet. It is surrounded by a sea of heavy outgoing communications."

"Jedi intuition is not enough for me, Maddaus. I want facts!"

"You spoke to your defense minister about having imagination, Prime Minister. Mine will be supported by the findings of your agents. When you learn the truth, have him promoted to the diplomatic corps immediately. He cannot refuse your wishes, and we will have one less spider in the web."

Bannon was frustrated beyond belief at the insinuation. On the other hand, she trusted Maddaus to act in the best of interests of her people. She was overwhelmed by speculation since the Jedi Master arrived. Was this the first proof of deceit and treachery? If true, she had been staring in the face of the enemy for two years.

She leaned over in her chair and took a deep breath. It was a physical betrayal of early exhausion, and deep emotion, something her enemies could not see.

"I'm starting to see this web of treachery," said the prime minister. "This thing, this brilliant and evil plan, rests at the edge of my consciousness. It's very delicate. The Sith have put precious resources into seizing my planet. Those resources should be found and sterilized."

"Indeed, Prime Minister. Are you ready to defend your planet? You can hold nothing back. Now is the time for action."


	10. Chapter 10

[Disclaimer: Star Wars fanfiction is based upon the Star Wars movies of the same name. All characters and situations other than my own are the property of George Lucas, 20th Century Fox and whoever else makes a ton of cash with that outstanding evolutionary franchise.]

**Chapter 10. Radiation scare**

Towson bolted out of his bunk at the sudden blare of the intercom. How he hated that noise! The commodore was too old to leap off the deck like a spring hare, and a jolt of back pain reminded him about the age difference between squadron commanders and spry cadets.

He slapped a button on the comm-panel. "What do you want? What time is it?"

"It's 0345, Commodore," responded Captain Neiss from the bridge. "You'd better come up here, sir. There are problems over on the _Centaur_."

Squadron 39 had been in sub-light transit for two days. The dockmaster had eaten Towson's excuses without further argument and he never checked with Naboo about a refugee crisis. The squadron never received a flash order to return to Republic space, so the ships were free to proceed on their own. But it was still an unusual feeling for Towson to go on a voyage that was never officially authorized. Some of the officers joked about taking up a life of piracy. Their enthusiasm for the secret mission was admirable, but Towson was more sober for the experience. It was very lonely in the Outer Rim without the rest of the Republic fleet.

Captain Neiss had bad news for him when he reached the bridge. A screen on the bulkhead was showing realtime images of the cruiser _Centaur_. The video of the ship was overlayed with tactical data. Towson noticed at once that a hazard strobe was blinking angrily on the ship's hull.

"What's wrong with _Centaur_?" he asked his flag captain.

"She reported a radiation leak at 0324," reported Neiss. "Captain Wynn ordered a diagnostic when the alarm sounded because his engine room is full of faulty sensors. The first report came back negative and the alert was canceled. But the radiation alarm went off again at 0332. This time a leak was positively identified in the starboard fusion pump. The levels are dangerous, sir. One crewmember was taken to sick bay with radiation sickness. Wynn has cleared the aft compartments of personnel and moved _Centaur_ to the rear of the formation. I've ordered all ships to keep their distance in the event of an explosion. The captain hasn't given the order to abandon ship, but _Satyr _is standing by to recover escape pods."

Towson knew _Centaur _had mechanical problems that were beyond repair. Most of Squadron 39 was in a similar state. If the cruiser wasn't scheduled for decommissioning, a good shipyard would have fixed everything. Captain Wynn did well to protect his crew from further harm.

He broke radio silence and called the commander of _Centaur _on his personal view screen. An exhausted Captain Wynn answered the call.

"Sorry to wake you, Commodore," greeted the commander. "I know better than to rouse the squadron commander from a good night's sleep."

"How's your sick crewman, Wynn?"

"She'll be fine, sir. One of my technicians who got too close to the exposed area. A medical droid dropped her in a bacta tank for recovery."

"That's good to hear. Give me a report on the ship."

"There is a microfracture in the No. 2 fusion pump. The assembly has been flushed of its fusion mixture, but radiation has saturated the entire space. It will take time to find the leak with precision scanners and repair the fracture. My chief engineer is also worried about a machinery breakdown. We have a lot of old gear down there, and propulsion may not hold at maximum exposure."

Towson started to run some figures in his head. The _Centaur _ran on a fusion powerplant, which was an early kind of starship propulsion in the days before ion engines and other Galactic technology. Modern starships didn't encounter much radiation danger, but the aging _Centaur_ wasn't so lucky. She had a backup pump to fuel the reactor, but the ship would be seriously underpowered. Captain Wynn didn't need to explain that his cruiser could no longer keep pace with the rest of the squadron.

"Looks like we've hit a snag over here, Commodore," said the weary captain. "It was bound to happen. I'd better set course for Republic space. I'll tell headquarters that we ran into a solar shower and lost contact with the group. I'll wipe the communication logs for good measure."

Towson rapped his knuckles on the edge of the screen. "Come on, Wynn! We're three days away from all the action. Are you making an excuse to get out of a fight?"

The _Centaur_'s commander chuckled softly. "No, sir. I must be tired."

"We don't have time to be tired. Here's the plan. Break out the containment suits for all hands. I know they're uncomfortable, but it's a necessary precaution for the crew. Nobody goes into the engine room unless they can fix something vital. Use astrodroids for the work if possible. Everybody stays in the forward sections. You got all that?"

"Aye, sir."

"Rig your ship to receive a heavy tow line. _Satyr_ is going to grapple and pull you along. We're proceeding to the rendezvous point."

"The squadron will go down to a crawl!" protested the captain. "Don't wait for us!"

"Quiet, Wynn. You're bothering me."

"Just let me limp behind. I'll make it by myself."

"I've made my decision, Captain. Now secure all nonessential systems and stand by for the tow."

"Acknowledged," Wynn crispily replied. "I suppose you're right, Commodore. This is just a hiccup. We're all itching for a scrap over here."

"I know you are. _Archangel _out."

Towson closed the channel and leaned back in his chair. He stretched and yawned as he looked over the status displays.

"Hell of a morning," he said to his flag captain. "I try to avoid radiation leaks before breakfast."

"Do we really need _Centaur_?" asked Captain Neiss. "Wynn will feel miserable, dragging on the squadron like this."

"I need every ship, Neiss. Besides, no one stays behind this close to the Outer Rim. Order all ships to two-thirds sublight speed. Maintain course. Tell _Satyr _to take the _Centaur_in tow. Both cruisers must break radio silence at once if there are any problems. _Minotaur _and _Dragon_ will take up flanking positions. _Archangel _has the lead."

"Aye, sir. I recommend we send _Unicorn_ to scout ahead. I haven't received any updated tactical bulletins from the fleet relays. We need reconaissance, and I don't know what's out there."

"Very well. Detach _Unicorn _immediately. And after what we've seen with _Centaur_, order all commanders to run propulsion tests on their fusion assemblies. Let's hope nothing else breaks down."

The captain settled into his own chair and began tapping commands into a console. "The commodore should return to bed, if he doesn't mind the suggestion. The crew hates it when their squadron commander gets grumpy in the morning."

"Nursemaid Neiss," chuckled Towson. "That's what the wardroom used to call you."

"Thought I busted enough heads to stop that nickname," the captain muttered.

Towson climbed out of his seat and moved to the hatch. "I'll be in my cabin. Call me if anything happens with _Centaur_, will you?"

"Aye, sir. Don't worry. She'll hold."

Towson wasn't worried about the damaged cruiser. He fretted over his crews. A radiation scare in deep space put everyone on edge. They had so far to go and so much to do before the time came to rest.


	11. Chapter 11

[Disclaimer: Star Wars fanfiction is based upon the Star Wars movies of the same name. All characters and situations other than my own are the property of George Lucas, 20th Century Fox and whoever else makes a ton of cash with that outstanding evolutionary franchise.]

**Chapter 11: Runaway robot**

The Rithoth City police force wanted revenge tonight, because six different precincts sent their forces to raid the substation in Gamma Zone. Agent Kuritas was in close contact with the police chief and local officers as they readied for the sting. She sent them intel updates every ten minutes on Slice's movements. The police wanted that bloodthirsty robot in the worst way. Once they sent him to the scrap heap, service droids could finally be used without blowing up in the hands of a citizen.

Bard watched Kuritas work the sting from the privacy of her parlor. The Republic agent hadn't left her terminal since meeting him. The monitor implant on her neck, which opened neural doors into cyberspace, was seriously working on overtime. With her eyes on every access point in the abandoned substation, she didn't make time to eat or sleep.

"What have you planned for him?" he asked.

"Something straightforward," she answered. "Police gunships will fly up, shoot holes in the roof and throw in static grenades. That will fry every droid in Slice's workshop and give him a few short circuits in the process. Then the armored cars will charge onto the property and shoot at any robot that moves. Cops rush the building, and ordnance disposal teams will disarm the droids."

"Couldn't the static grenades cook off the bombs?"

"Possibly, but the substation is in a deserted corner of the industrial grid. We won't cry if Slice gets blown up. We can apprehend him as scrap metal."

"You're assuming that he hasn't caught on to the police. What if Slice starts throwing his bomb-droids at the police?"

Kuritas scratched her cheek absentmindedly. Most of her consciousness was perched above the virtual network of the substation. She was feeling for electrical and data signatures in an effort to provide a better picture for the police. It took a lot of concentration to "walk" through the building and converse with Bard at the same time.

"Scrambler pods will jam any detonator in the building," she answered.

"But that will jam the police radios as well."

"It can't be helped. Slice may have other droids in the city. We have to cut his strings first!"

"And you're sure he doesn't know you're onto him?"

The agent cast an irritated look over her shoulder. "I've done this kind of work before, Mister Bard."

The pilot shrugged. "Something doesn't feel right. I've been on the other end of this kind of business myself."

"Really?" The agent turned in surprise. "Would I find some interesting reading material if I looked up your record?"

The courier pilot grinned at her. "I think you'll find that my record is missing from the Republic Intelligence database. Ivos Maddaus has me in his keeping."

"You're a mercenary?"

"The Jedi don't employ mercenaries. I just move packages. Sometimes I move passengers."

"Then you must move some bad passengers and bad packages, otherwise Maddaus would never have hired you."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because Maddaus only takes the disreputable under his arm. That's how he found me."

An indicator flashed on her screen. The agent turned her attention to her instruments.

"The gunships will hit the substation in thirty seconds. Slice is still there. He unplugged himself from a charge outlet. He's been working on the droids. I can detect pulses from their motivator units. Their processors are being rewired to follow remote control."

They waited in silence. The substation was many city blocks away from the NovaLux club, but it felt like the action was happening next door. Kuritas fitted a radio bud in her ear and listened to police chatter.

"The roof is shot through," she announced. "They're lobbing static grenades. Ground units are moving in."

The security panel buzzed behind Bard. He switched on the small viewer and waited for the hidden camera to show him the exterior of the parlor. A small droid was waddling slowly up the hall.

"Does Rengo keep any service droids?" he asked.

Kuritas didn't answer. She was hunched over the computer with a hand against her earpiece. She was whispering to someone on a microphone.

"He's just a dummy?" she asked. "What do you mean, he's a dummy?"

"Mona, there's a droid outside."

"Sergeant, get your ordnance team in there. Those droids could be―"

A screech erupted in her radio bud. She screamed and clawed at her ear, ripping out the instrument.

"What happened?" Bard demanded, keeping an eye on the approaching droid.

"Slice duped himself with a remote-controlled drone. My line with the field commander just went dead."

A communicator on her belt started beeping in short, angry bursts. She unclipped the device and held it to her other ear.

"Cirrus here," she answered. "What's going on?"

The droid strolling up the hallway looked innocent enough, but it made Bard feel tense. He swung open the parlor door and held up his hand.

"Hold it right there," he ordered the robot. "Turn around and go back to the elevator."

The droid didn't have a face. It was just a grey metal box on two stubby legs. The robot hesitated at his instruction, but didn't withdraw to the elevator. Bard suddenly regretted talking to it. If this was a service droid, it would be observant of the customers. If it was one of Slice's weapons, he had no time at all.

"Go back!" he shouted.

Mona lowered her communicator. "Bard, who are you talking to?"

She saw the wobbling robot on the security screen and jumped off the bedroll. She grabbed Bard by the arm, yanked him inside, and tossed a static grenade down the hall. They fell into her room as the grenade exploded. There was a loud pop, and something metallic struck the floor. The lights in the corridor were blown out.

"Why didn't you hear me?" Bard shouted.

"Why didn't you stay inside?" Kuritas shouted back.

"That was one of Rengo's droids."

"Rengo doesn't keep any droids."

"Terrific. It's time to go. Slice knows you're here."

The agent stared at him in shock. Then she remembered all the hours spent in the network, reading the digital representative of the dummy in the substation. Slice must have sniffed her out, traced her own data signature in Rithoth cyberspace. Now the artificial terrorist was thirsting for revenge.

She reached for a backpack and stuffed in her computer, a toolkit, some extra static grenades and a power pack.

"The police were ambushed," she told him as she packed. "The stolen droids weren't even wired. The entire building was stuffed with explosives."

"My God," whispered the pilot. "There could be dozens of cops caught in the rubble. Come on! The same thing that will happen to us if we don't move!"

"Do you have an escape plan?"

"I've got something that looks like one."

Bard flipped open his communicator. "Wake up, T6! It's time to break loose. Fire up the engines, take off and follow the source of this transmission. Don't worry about spaceport clearance. Signal when you approach my position."

"Is that your ship?"

"My astrodroid. We're getting picked up on the roof in about seven minutes."

"Is your ship shielded from invasive signals? Slice can hack a droid without a hard connection."

"_Lotus _is full of electronic countermeasures. If he gets within range of my ship, I'll turn him into scrap. Are you ready?"

Kuritas pulled the pack over her shoulders, picked up the blaster rifle and peeked around the door. The two-legged droid was dead on its feet. Burning wires hissed from a few ruptured panels.

"Rengo the Hutt is going to have to pay the bill for this one," she muttered. "I don't think he'll want to see me again."

"Did you make a deal with him to stay here?"

"Yeah, but it didn't include getting into shootouts. This is the last time he makes an arrangement with Republic Intelligence."

"What about your equipment? Isn't this secret spy stuff?"

"I don't need it. I dumped my files into the Rithoth police database for safe keeping. The rest of the gear will shut down if anyone tampers with it. I'm done here."

Garollian drew his blaster and followed her down the opposite end of the hall. They got to the edge of the carpet when the elevator chimed behind them. Both pivoted with their blasters and saw the one thing that could stop them from getting out alive.

A huge battle droid was standing in the elevator. Its servos were encased in thick armor plate. A series of sharp metal studs and blades protruded from its arms and legs. One of its gauntlets clutched a massive blaster rifle with an underbarrel grenade launcher.

"That's no dummy," Bard exclaimed.

The monstrous automaton peered at the humans with two red eyes. It had no features that a human could describe as personable, but Kuritas and Bard were sure that it was angry.

"Kuritas!" boomed the robot.

"It knows your name," Bard whispered.

Mona felt a chill run up her spine. She tried to control her swelling sense of fear. This was the monster that had killed hundreds of citizens on two different planets. This was the monster that Mona nearly caught before it turned the tables on her. Her fear turned into anger.

"You're under arrest, Slice!" she shouted down the hallway. "Deactivate your motivator and stand down!"

The huge droid made a noise that sounded like a synthesized growl. Slice cleared the elevator with one long stride, stopped at the defused service droid and kicked it into the air. Bard and Kuritas ducked as the inbound droid hurtled over their heads. It smashed into the wall, showering the humans with paint and plaster.

They fired their blasters simultaneously. Bard missed completely and struck the elevator car. Kuritas nailed the droid in the leg, but its armored appendage took the blast. Slice stumbled backward, recovered, and raised its gruesome weapon.

Garollian and Mona jumped into the stairwell on their right. Something exploded behind them as they made the landing. They were hit with shards of plastic and bits of melting wire. The hallway behind them was ablaze.

Bard brushed the smoking debris off his jacket. "Was that his grenade launcher? He's got lousy aim for a droid."

Kuritas started up the stairs. "He doesn't need to aim with a grenade launcher!"

They fled to the top landing, but the exit to the rooftop headhouse was barred shut. Bard had to waste a power pack in his pistol to shoot through the barricade. They emerged on top of the NovaLux and looked for cover, but all the ventilator domes, comm-antennae and skylights were unsuitable for holding off a battle droid.

Slice didn't show up yet. Nothing exploded. Blaster fire didn't shoot through the roof. But then they heard the firing and shouting from the stairwell. The metallic monster was stomping down the lower floors.

"He's run into Rengo's bouncers," said Kuritas. "They won't stop him. Where is that ship of yours?"

"Any minute now. My droid is an aggressive flyer."

"We need to buy time."

"That runaway droid has got to stay down."

"He'll get back up," she murmured. "He's just too strong. I don't know where he modified himself. Our blasters won't work. I wish Maddaus was here."

Bard silently agreed with her. A lightsaber would make short work of that damnable robot.

His communicator started to ring. To his delight, the excited chirps of T6 could be heard over the speaker. _Lotus _was in the neighborhood. It suddenly gave him a bright idea.

"What about the static grenades in your backpack?"

"They won't damage Slice. His armor is protected against electrical discharge."

"But they'll disrupt his sensors and slow him down! Wait until Slice shows up on the top landing. Throw them inside the door, then start firing."

Bard grabbed a flare stick from his jacket, twisted it open and tossed it at the headhouse. The flare burst open in a hail of green sparks. They heard the sounds of Slice's heavy feet from the inner stairwell. Slice was done with the bodyguards and eager to disintegrate his primary targets.

"Here he comes," Kuritas warned. She got down and laid three static grenades in front of her.

A great, hulking colossus made of jagged steel burst out of the door. Slice was scorched and nicked by club security, but was far from disabled. He roared at the humans through his vocal speakers.

"Nail him!" cried Bard.

Quickly, Mona thumbed the arming buttons on her grenades and threw them at Slice. There was a flash of blinding light, and the evil droid was instantly swallowed by a fierce electrical storm. Static electricity crawled across his armored skin, but he continued to trudge forth.

"Fly in low, T6!" Bard yelled into his communicator. "Aim for the green flare at the headhouse!"

Slice stepped out of the static vortex, fired his terrible weapon and struck Kuritas in the shoulder. She cried out in agony and flew back across the roof, teetering on the edge of the parapet. Bard dived after her and landed on her legs.

Not even the killer droid could predict the sudden arrival of the _Lotus. _There was a crunching sound as the starship plowed through the rooftop structure, taking Slice with it. T6 triggered the breaking thrusters and stopped the agile vessel right above the roof. The roar of the engines was deafening.

"Are you all right?" Bard shouted to Kuritas.

The woman nodded, but her face was twisted in sincere pain. A black hole existed in her right shoulder. She couldn't cover the scorch mark with her hand because Bard was sprawled on top of her.

The pilot helped her up and moved them to the _Lotus_. T6 opened a hatch and they climbed inside.

"Wait," she grunted, "we can't leave without Slice."

"Are you kidding? Leave that meat grinder on Rithoth!"

"If he recovers and gets away, he'll build a new body and start bombing again. The police will never find him."

"I'm not taking that thing on my ship," he stated.

"I need his processor, Bard! It holds his personality and his programming. He'll be powerless without it. The rest of his parts are useless to me."

"Are you out of your mind?"

Mona gasped as a stab of pain shot through her shoulder. "He has to be taken into custody. Please, help me!"

T6 piped an alarm through the intercom. Bard glanced in the direction of the cockpit and knew what was happening. Rithoth Police had scrambled aircraft to catch the _Lotus_. They had to break out of local airspace and jump into orbit before they were shot down. To local authorities, the intruding vessel was just another gunship run by the gangs.

"Fine," he responded. "Be quick about it!"

He helped the agent out of the hatch and ran to the parapet. A jagged metal arm protruded from a pile of rubble under the ship's bow. Bard grasped the steel gauntlet and dragged the battle droid into the open. Thankfully, Slice was a total wreck. His thick armor was torn apart like the hull of a ruptured tank. His scary red optics were dead in their sockets.

Kuritas took a multitool from her pocket and unscrewed something on Slice's chest plate. She pried off the armored pieces and dug into his skeletal frame. The agent used another instrument to fidget around his battery core before wrenching a tiny capsule out of his body.

"I have it!" she cried. "Slice booby-trapped his own body. I had to disarm a grenade that was bolted on his spine."

She tucked the processor into her jacket. Then her body sagged from the pain of her wound. Bard caught her under the arms and dragged her into the ship.

"Your job is done, Agent Kuritas. It's time to split."

Garollian shouted for T6 to hit the skies as he sealed the hatch. _Lotus_ went to full burn and cut into the clouds, leaving the damaged roof of the NovaLux and Gamma Zone forever.


	12. Chapter 12

[Disclaimer: Star Wars fanfiction is based upon the Star Wars movies of the same name. All characters and situations other than my own are the property of George Lucas, 20th Century Fox and whoever else makes a ton of cash with that outstanding evolutionary franchise.]

**Chapter 12: Snake in the grass**

Prime Minister Bannon stared in disgust at the conference pickup on her office desk. The Opposition Leader of the Albernon parliament had demanded an audience with her, but declined to meet in person or communicate through a standard video channel. The reasons were obvious. The Opposition Leader, often known as the Wild Boar, was not an eloquent or witty man. He was brunt and rash when it came to heated issues and needed a gaggle of political handlers to direct his aggression. He chose to berate Bannon over an audio channel because he had the best speechwriters on the planet. They could slip him catchy one-liners from the comfort of his office.

Her most powerful enemy in government and the head of the rival party demanded to know why she had ordered full-scale militia exercises so early in the year. Bannon knew exactly what he was going to say before he started spitting venom into the microphone.

"Volunteer reservists constitute the bulk of our planetary militia!" he stated over the channel. "These people have jobs! An unwarranted deployment will disrupt the commerce on every continent. Have you heard the news commentators from Osroland? They complain at length about the maneuvers. Even the provincial governors have expressed unrest. Your decisions are going to change the mood of your future voters, Prime Minister."

Bannon took a deep breath and waited for him to stop breathing. She could blow up in anger, but the Opposition Leader would want her to lose control. She preferred to annoy him with a long, unnecessary pause. It made no sense to charge the Wild Boar.

"Your protests are misguided, sir," she answered calmly. "I find it surprising that the underfoot Osroland media has even noticed a military deployment. Oddly enough, their reporters are citing anonymous sources in government. I seem to recall notifying your office about the maneuvers as a political courtesy. I wonder: have your advisors made any recent calls to the Osroland press?"

"Don't waste your ammunition with weak accusations, Bannon. You can't move a single soldier without my support."

"You may address me as Prime Minister," she growled into the audio pickup. "And as commander-in-chief of the Albernon militia, I can order any exercises at my discretion. That is clearly stated in our constitution. I don't require the support of my ill-educated colleague."

She glanced up as Avraus knocked on her office door. He was visibly excited. The man also looked disheveled, as if he had not slept in days. Bannon felt guilty about that. He would look worse by the end of this crisis.

She turned back to the audio pickup. "Pardon me, sir, but we will have to continue this discussion at a later date. My commanders will brief you when they have more details about next week's maneuvers. And would you reiterate to your staff that leaks to the media about militia actions are a capital offense? We don't want any public embarassments where our global security is concerned."

Bannon switched off the channel before the Wild Boar could fire back. She waved Avraus to a seat, then pressed a button that sealed the office for privacy.

"The Opposition Leader is a bloodthirsty hunter with special tastes," she told her minister. "He has always wanted my head first and my office second. I wonder if these trophies will be acquired in any particular order."

Her advisor took a deep breath. "I have disturbing news, Prime Minister. A junior manager in the Albernon data center on Mosetia has been identified as a spy. For the past five months, he has copied files from our global satellite relays and task programs. He carried out the data in a device which was hidden in his left shoe."

"His left shoe?" repeated Bannon. "Goodness, Avraus, what was he stealing from us?"

"Specifically, the fuel consumption and orbital patterns of our communication satellites."

"There must be hundreds of those satellites in orbit."

"Nine hundred and thirty-two, Madam," Avraus corrected her.

"Was he alone in his actions?"

"Yes, Prime Minister. When this suspect became known to me, I immediately checked the service records of all employees in the Bureau of Satellite Operations. Many are experienced military veterans that were cleared by my analysts before employment. No one could help him in this act. The junior manager used false credentials to acquire this information. Protected directories were hacked with a virus program."

"What did he do with the satellite data?"

"I cannot say at present, Madam. My people are working on it. The manager is still under surveillance."

Bannon sighed. "We have caught our first snake in the grass."

Avraus cleared his throat. "Perhaps we have caught more than one, Prime Minister. Your personal aide, Mr. Kelvin, has been monitored closely for the last two days at your request. I don't know why you asked me to investigate him, but it proved correct."

"What have you found about him?" she demanded.

"Each month Kelvin sends a letter to his grandmother on a moon colony in the Bespin System."

"What is wrong with that?"

"Kelvin has no living relatives. I have a contact on Bespin who confirms this. The letters are transmitted to an orbital messaging relay, but I have no means to see where they are directed. In all likelihood the relay is programmed to encrypt the messages and send them to their real recipient."

The Prime Minister clutched the arms of her chair. Ivos Maddaus was right! If it wasn't for the Jedi's mystical faculties, which she still failed to understand, her aide would be free to report her every move. And the alleged traitor was sitting at his desk just outside her door!

"Avraus, I'm going to send Kelvin to represent Albernon in negotiations with the Trade Federation. The position is not a critical one. See that the other spy is also reassigned to a nonessential facility."

"As you wish, Madam. I know an antennae construction project in the Osroland highlands that require his long-term attention. You have chosen a wise course of action. We can't arrest any spies. That might provoke the Sith into moving against us too early."

"I feel better, Avraus, knowing you've accepted the truth about our would-be conquerors."

The minister hesitated before answering. "I am willing to entertain that idea, Prime Minister, although the evidence is starting to support it. Nevertheless, we do not know that these men are true agents of the Sith. They may serve another enemy. But if I were to invade a planet, I would certainly plant operatives to watch the planetary grid. After pulling these snakes from the grass, I am not convinced that our defenses are fully ready."

"Ready?" Bannon shook her head. "Avraus, the Sith have slaughtered billions, and may live to slaughter more. When the Sith come to Albernon, will we ever be truly ready?"

"I will fight anything that touches Albernon soil, Prime Minister," remarked her trusted advisor. "We will survive."

Bannon cherished the wisdom and counsel of her defense minister. But it would take more than the knowledge of two informants to raise her confidence. The Sith conspiracy was bottled up. All the powers of a prime minister were strained to find a way to keep it in check, before her world was consumed and lost by violence.


	13. Chapter 13

[Disclaimer: Star Wars fanfiction is based upon the Star Wars movies of the same name. All characters and situations other than my own are the property of George Lucas, 20th Century Fox and whoever else makes a ton of cash with that outstanding evolutionary franchise.]

**Chapter 13: A visit to Basil Dolvin**

Every security guard on the space station was infected with fright. The three Sith warriors that barged down the airlock gantry were very real. They looked like demons draped in darkness, and their swirling black cloaks seemed to swallow the light of the corridor lamps. The red lightsabers in their hands were ignited to kill everyone. If anyone escaped the surprise attack, they would be stricken with nightmares for the rest of their lives.

However, a well trained and well paid security force employed by the Dolvin Company would not succumb entirely to fear. If the guards lost the deep-space supply depot and lived to report it, the company would fire them without another word. That encouraged them to hit the Sith before they escaped the pressurized gantry where their ship had just docked.

A squad of guards hastily erected an autoturret at the other end of the gantry. The drone-fired blaster cannon couldn't destroy the sleek Sith vessel that forcibly joined with the airlock, but it could detain the black-clad warriors. When they were finished, the guards stepped back and closed a blast door behind the weapon. They crouched behind the barricade, watching on a security monitor as the drone fired on the intruders. The Sith were not deterred. Blaster bolts richocheted off their spinning blades, striking the bulkheads in a burst of sparks. One of the aggressors deflected a shot that hit the autoturret and blew it up. The guards shouted as the concussive force slammed into the blast door. The deckplates shook under their feet, but held fast.

"They're fried now!" a guard hooted in excitement. "We'll have to scrape them off the gantry!"

"Forget the Sith, you idiot!" shouted the guard captain. "There are other problems!"

A yellow light flashed above the blast door. To their newfound horror, the explosion had ruptured the gantry. The connecting tunnel between ship and station was starting to decompress. The gantry frame buckled wildly against the blast door. In a moment everything around them would be smashed open to the vacuum of space.

"The seals are breaking!" cried the captain. "Run for it!"

The guards scrambled for the safety of an adjoining compartment and shut the hatch behind them. The blast door imploded a second later. There was a rush of air, like a storm without thunder, and every object not tied to the deck went flying into space.

The guard captain peered through the hatch window to see what became of the intruders. There was a wide gap between the ruined gantry and the station compartment. Nothing could be seen but floating debris. The yellow hazard light continued to blink above the ruptured blast door. A crate drifted through the twisted frame and tumbled into the stars.

"Central, the intruders are gone," he reported into his radio.

"Confirm that!" barked the station director.

"What's to confirm? The vacuum took everything. Get some droids outside to fix that hole, will you? We're locked up in a storeroom. We have gravity, but we can't get out until the airlock is sealed and pressurized."

"Acknowledged. Repair droids are dispatched. Can you see their ship from your position?"

The captain glanced through the window. "There's too much junk floating around. Can you get any readings up there?"

"Their ship is made with some kind of stealth material. Our scanners can't penetrate the hull. Just sit tight and we'll get to you."

A shadow crossed the hatch window. The captain saw a trio of curious looking spheres, possibly liquid bags, as they floated into the space depot. To his amazement, the black spheres halted before the ruptured gantry door. Each extended a small tube and fired a cluster of objects at the opening. The projectiles burst and covered the breach in a gooey substance. The hole was quickly patched up.

"Central!" he screamed, "they're still in the terminal! They just used some kind of sticky material to close the breach!"

"What are you talking about?" demanded the station director. "They're supposed to be dead!"

Red lightsabers sliced out of the protective spheres, and the Sith intruders broke free. One of them leaped across the airlock chamber in zero gravity and paused at the storeroom hatch.

The guards readied their blasters, but the dark lord was not intent on fighting them. The Sith calmly applied a blinking object to the window. Then he kicked off to join his comrades and slipped into the station. The guards moved toward the hatch, but the captain waved them away.

"Stay where you are, boys! Nobody move! That's a motion-sensitive charge on the window. If we open the door, the explosive kills us."

"Why don't we pile all this cargo against the hatch? If we trigger the door, the junk would take most of the impact."

That suggestion came from the young guard who earlier assumed the Sith had been obliterated. The captain admired his enthusiasm, but there wasn't much to be said for his experience.

"We're pets in a cage," he replied. "Blow the hatch and the shrapnel will poke another hole in the airlock. The compartment will decompress again and we'll be dead. It looks like we're out of a job. The Sith just took our space station."

Darth Shade joined Stigator and Erader as they moved unchecked through the Dolvin Company space depot. Their gantry entrance would have cost them their lives had it not been for their emergency containment spheres. They didn't expect the guards to be so aggressive, but it wasn't enough to stop the dark lords from coming aboard.

"Where is the rest of their security force?" asked Darth Erader as the they moved swiftly down the passage. He was anxious to fight a real opponent. Sparring with his brother and the practice droids did not satisfy his thirst for combat.

Darth Shade pointed at a blue panel that ran the length of the upper bulkhead. "Those are motion detectors. We have been partly monitored since we left the airlock. Someone in the control center has decided to avoid a loss of life. They are looking for places to launch a counterattack."

The apprentices turned into a three-way junction and met another blaster turret. This one was mounted on treads and rolled up to shoot them. Stigator threw up a wall of Force energy before it fired and watched the weapon crumple like a crude toy. They moved ahead, but a series of blast doors came crashing down before them. The passage to the right and directly ahead were completely blocked. The door on the left malfunctioned and stopped a meter above the floor. Erader lifted his lightsaber to slice into the nearest partition, but Shade motioned for him to stop.

"These autoturrets are expensive," he remarked. "They would not be expended unless absolutely necessary."

"What are you rambling about?" growled Erader.

"This depot is not designed for internal defense," explained the Sith lord. "Some stations have stun fields and poison gas. We haven't seen those devices. Dolvin Company keeps an adequate security force instead. They rely on numbers instead of systems."

Stigator deactivated his lightsaber. "Shade is correct. These turrets were meant to slow us down while the station regroups its security force. And we will be detained from our mission if we keep slicing through doors and guards."

He unhooked a scanner from his belt and interfaced with their ship's sensors. The facility was designed by Basil Dolvin himself for rapid cargo transfers to his freighter fleet. It was a complicated labyrinth of conduits and passages, cargo bays and power plants. The schematic offered by their ship computer revealed that their route to the control center was cut off. Interior corridors were blocked by blast doors and weapon drones. Only the left corridor, with its obviously malfunctioned blast door, was left open to them.

"They want us to go left," said Erader. He did not need to examine his brother's sensor readings to detect an ambush.

Shade put away his lightsaber and focused on the left passage. He let the dark side of the Force augment his concentration. The depot was not confusing when his senses were expanded to "see" beyond walls. Troops were gathering in a cargo bay several meters ahead. He could identify other surprises in that large compartment. There were whole companies of battle droids that outnumbered the human guards. These would march out in picket lines, feeding fresh troops into key junctions like the pincers of an Orion cave beetle. But the apprentices who carried the Banner of Dominus were not trained to be repulsed. They had a plan of their own and were hardly inconvenienced.

"You know the mission," Stigator spoke to his fellow warriors. "It is time for us to part ways."

Erader grasped a ventilator cover and wrenched it off the bulkhead. He turned to Darth Shade.

"A fledgling student like yourself can be prone to blunders," he told the apprentice. "Our master would be disappointed to see you fail. But I would be amused."

"What touching concern," rasped Shade. "Spare me, Erader. I don't need advice from a Sith in diapers. And next time, don't throw me in a tunnel with a malnourished Wookie. A child could beat him with a stick. Fortunately, you aren't employed at the Coruscant Zoo."

"Enough bickering!" Stigator hissed. "We move on the objective!"

Darth Erader growled low and turned to the ventilation duct. He squeezed his muscular frame into the utility trunk and disappeared. Erader would deal with his contempt for Darth Shade as he went down the next thirty meters of crawlspace. The other apprentices took separate routes to draw fire and distract the security forces. The dark side would lead them on different paths, but all would hunt for the same target.

The station director paced up and down a platform in Central Control while keeping a close eye on the security displays. He saw live imagery of battle droids forming up for action. Guards ushered nonessential staff into common areas for their protection. A handful of autoturrets rolled up and down the corridors in search of intruders. Oxygen had been sucked out of some compartments to discourage the invaders. It was an impressive reaction to a sudden and dangerous threat, but the results remained to be seen. Three hooded assailants had forcibly docked with the space station and charged the main deck not twenty minutes ago. Now they were gone.

"How?" he demanded. "How can they just disappear?"

"It's their ship, sir," replied a technician. "It has a stealth field that prevents out scanners from getting inside the hull. It's the same technology that allowed it to pass within meters of the station and dock without warning. I also think the ship is protecting the intruders. A scrambler wave directed at the intruders might be able to confuse our internal scanners."

"What about the security cams? We lost visuals with the intruders after the airlock chamber."

"I'd carry a field emitter on my belt to distort our optical clusters, just in case I realized I was being watched."

The director bowed his head in resignation. Dolvin Company employed some of the best security experts in the galaxy, and most of them were in this very room. But all their knowledge and advice was useless if they couldn't catch the marauders.

Who were they dealing with? The guards whispered a terrible, unmentionable name the moment that sleek ship docked on the mooring grid. The director thought it absurd, although everyone in Central was thinking about it. The dark lords of the Sith were legends. They had conquered vast amounts of territory, and what they didn't seize for personal gain was wasted and buried in strife.

The supply depot had no strategic importance or valuable cargo, but the station director had to face facts. There could be only one asset here that the Sith really wanted. The founder, owner and chief executive of the Dolvin Company was sitting in his private office just down the hall.

"Keep looking," he instructed the Central operators. "They must be located and stopped. I'm going to speak with Mr. Dolvin."

Basil Dolvin was not at his desk when the director entered. The wealthy space merchant was sitting on a sofa against the wall, cradling a small box in his lap.

"Is something wrong, sir?" asked the director.

Dolvin scoffed at him. "My depot is under siege. I'll lose billions of credits before the day is out, and very possibly my life. And my staff has failed to repel this threat! What else could be wrong?"

"May I ask what you're doing, sir?"

The merchant patted the box in his lap. "This was a decorative blaster kept by my father. He sold reactor assemblies to both sides of the Mandalorian Wars. One of the warlords gave him the antique gun as a gift. My father was very good at slipping merchandise past the blockades."

"You won't need a weapon, sir," said the director. "Two companies of battle droids have been activated. The intruders will be routed. We've narrowed their choice of channels throughout the depot."

"Where are they now?"

"Unknown, sir. They have the means to sneak past our scanners. The Sith want you, Mr. Dolvin. We don't have anything worth stealing on this depot. I think you should board your yacht and depart immediately."

"A moment ago you inferred that our battle droids could stop them."

"Yes, sir. But I can't guarantee this."

A Central officer suddenly burst into the room. "Mr. Dolvin! One of the intruders has been spotted at your private yacht! The guards are dead in the airlock."

Dolvin tossed the box on the floor. "It's useless to me anyway. I can't seem

to find the key to open the box."

He stood up and smoothed his hands over his business suit. "Security will commence the evacuation of all depot employees. Post sentries in the entryways of all escape pods. If practical, launch a tug to shepherd the pods and pull them to safety."

"What about a distress call?" asked the director. "The Republic will not hear our message right away, but it is worth calling for help."

"The Sith will anticipate that," answered Dolvin. "That blasted ship out there will probably jam our transmissions, or destroy us completely. The pods must escape the sector in order to call for help. Take me to Central."

The control center was a flurry of activity when they returned. The security commander was barking orders into a microphone while his assistant tried to make sense of the emergency reports. Battle droids spotted a cloaked figure in a cargo bay but failed to kill him. The intruder turned them into slag and ran off. Then another intruder materialized at an auxiliary power station, killed the engineer on duty and blew the generator. Circuits were cooked in one third of the space station, knocking out lights, sensors and life support. The third warrior was nowhere to be seen.

Basil Dolvin watched his employees protect their station as best they could, but knew their chances were bleak. It was an impossible task to seek and destroy these murderers. They were faster and smarter than his reputable guards, and security could not hunt for intruders and evacuate the depot at the same time.

"It is time to leave," the executive announced to his staff. "Deactivate your consoles and leave Central. Proceed to the escape pods."

The depot director and security commander joined him on the upper platform. They would personally escort their employer to a shuttle. If the boss had just written off his depot, then their careers were left unmarred. Each employee was eager to sign off and escape while the chance was present.

Everyone froze as a blaster pistol went off on the other side of the main door. Something hummed against the portal, and a shower of sparks spat out of the access panel. The door was forced open, and a hooded figure stepped into the compartment.

"Basil Dolvin," rasped the intruder. "My name is Darth Shade. I have come for you."

The space merchant bolted from the room. He ran down the aft corridor, straight past his private office. A few subordinates, including the director, stuck right to his heels. The rest of the Central staff stared at Shade in absolute horror. The Sith apprentice basked in their fear. It was heady and intoxicating.

The security commander drew his blaster one second too late. Shade reached out with the Force and snatched it from his hand. The dark lord tossed aside the weapon and kicked him in the head. The fool hurtled backward and crashed into a console.

A pair of technicians took the opportunity to rush the intruder. Without drawing his weapon, Shade snared one man by the neck and threw him into the other. They flipped over a railing like clumsy acrobats and plopped on the lower deck. The last employee made a frantic dash for the rear corridor, but no amount of speed could get her there. Shade grabbed a chair and threw it at her. She caught the piece of furniture in the head, tripped and slammed into the wall. She slid onto the floor as the warrior moved on.

Some battle droids were marching single-file up the corridor, blocking his pursuit. Shade skewered them with his lightsaber and plowed through the junked robots with a burst of Force energy.

An escape trunk was left open at the end of the passage. Basil Dolvin had scurried up the shaft to a cluster of escape pods. Shade could practically taste his dread. It reeked from the man like a secretion. The merchant was gone from view but not beyond his reach.

"Come down, Dolvin," Shade called into the escape trunk. "You won't leave without our consent."

When he failed to appear, the dark apprentice climbed after him. Dolvin and the depot director were standing on the upper landing, trying to open an escape pod. The pod hatch refused to open. Shade used the Force to close the mechanism, trapping them on the deck. They reeled back at the sight of the cloaked warrior.

"Don't bother with the pods," Shade warned. "You won't have any luck."

"What do you want?" demanded the director. "Dolvin Company has two patrol frigates in this sector. Your ship will be incinerated!"

"Our ship destroyed your quaint vessels an hour ago. I trust you will make every effort to protect your employer, but spare me your threats."

"The Sith will pay for this," said the director, pompous and incensed.

The warrior chuckled softly. "Indeed. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have business with Mr. Dolvin."

Shade bashed the man on the head with the pommel of his lightsaber and threw him down the escape trunk. Dolvin was left to face the warrior alone.

"I am a servant of Darth Dominus," he told the merchant. "Do you know my master?"

Dominus? Basil was about to profess ignorance when the name floated into his awareness. It was an ominous reference. Some things, he remembered, were best left forgotten.

"Yes," whispered the merchant. "I know Dominus. Is he here?"

"No. My master conducts his operations through his students. We have damaged your space station, and my fellow apprentices are wiping out the rest of your security force. I have you to thank for that. Your evacuation order makes it easier for us to take control of the station."

"What does Dominus want from me?"

Shade grinned under the edge of his hood. "My master told me to refresh your memory. Some years ago, you were involved in an arms deal with Correlia for a battery of anti-ship lasers. Dominus was the private buyer and you were his representative. But the planetary authorities suspected foul play. When they backed out of the deal, you bought their guns for a higher price and sold them to a third party. You made excuses to Lord Dominus about confiscated armaments as you earned a profit. The Corellians had no reason to distrust you. They even started a contract with your company. Dominus was most displeased. Do you remember this ill-fated transaction?"

"What's so wrong about saving a blown deal?" asked Dolvin. "A merchant has a right to turn a profit! Besides, I didn't know that Dominus was a Sith Master. Dark lords aren't known for making legal transactions or keeping their end of the bargain. At least he got his money back! The Corellians were always suspicious. I knew it was going to fall through and decided to earn some credits in the vacuum."

"Your talent for reaping profits in a vacuum is impressive, Mr. Dolvin. Your reputation in the galactic markets is legendary."

The merchant sneered at him. "Did you attack my depot just to compliment me?"

"No, sir. I came here to threaten you."

Dolvin was defiant and arrogant before the apprentice. He was a kingpin in his own right. A death threat wasn't anything new to him.

"I will not be intimidated," he replied.

"You will be, when the Galactic Senate is informed about your largest source of revenue. Only a few know that Basil Dolvin is the third largest arms dealer on the intergalactic black market. Your legitimate business with the Republic is nothing but a front for illegal trade! Did you think that a Sith Master could forgive and forget Basil Dolvin? Your reputation is in greater peril than your pitiful life."

Dolvin shrank before the figure, knowing that the truth had come out. The decorative blaster in his office was just a paperweight compared to the arsenals he'd sold over the years. He sold to armadas and legions for decades, while the Republic sat unaware. Weapons were the real base of his financial empire. This Sith lord was right. Dominus had collected enough intelligence to ruin him. The Republic courts would have him, then they would seize his assets. It was a worse fate than death.

"What do you want from me?" he repeated.

"It may surprise you to learn that Lord Dominus admires anyone who can deceive and manipulate the Galactic Republic. He considers it an art. So, in exchange for your dignity and reputation, my master has asked for some of your assets."

"Assets," echoed the merchant. "What assets could Dominus want from me?"

"Dolvin Company has recently acquired four JD90-class freighters. They are currently awaiting shipping orders in the Gamorrean system. The vessels are crewed entirely by astrodroids. They are. . . unique starships."

Dolvin knew exactly why the freighters had piqued the Sith's interest. Each vessel was built with secret cargo holds to smuggle weapons and equipment. All four droid haulers could avoid the scrutiny of Republic inspectors and were protected against conventional scanners. These were the latest instruments of Dolvin's secret business.

"I can't give you those ships," he told Shade. "They require specific command codes to move anywhere. That information is physically stored in a Dolvin Company vault in Republic space."

Shade leaned over his captive. "Are you lying to me, Dolvin?"

"No, I'm not."

Shade's lightsaber sliced into the man's leg. The appendage dropped away, and Dolvin screamed like he had never screamed before. He collapsed on the deck and clawed at the cauterized stump. Shade watched with some satisfaction.

"Your lies have just cost you a body part," he informed the wounded victim. "The command codes are not physically stored in any vault. The codes are in your head. You came to the depot because it was a scheduled stop for your droid freighters. You memorized the codes to protect the security of your arms deliveries. That is why we're here."

"Mad!" Dolvin howled. "You're absolutely mad!"

Shade shook his head. "You don't understand. Madness is only extreme behavior without direction. My behavior has a purpose. I will torture you for this information. I will dissect your body into so many pieces that I'll need to give you painkillers and stimulants to keep you awake. You will be dropped in a bacta tank to heal, then pulled out and tortured again. We shall begin an endless journey of pain. Lord Dominus will undoubtedly wish to reaquaint himself with you, and his techniques are far more devious than mine. Of course, this can all be avoided if you give me the control codes."

"My leg," sobbed the captive. "You took my leg!"

"You were wrong about the Sith, Dolvin. We can hold our end of the bargain. This bargain is simple. Hand over your ships, and I will hand over your life."

Shade raised his lightsaber above his head, aiming for Dolvin's other leg. The merchant glared at him with tear-soaked eyes, convinced of the warrior's intent. In view of his chances, Dolvin made the smartest choice of his life.


	14. Chapter 14

[Disclaimer: Star Wars fanfiction is based upon the Star Wars movies of the same name. All characters and situations other than my own are the property of George Lucas, 20th Century Fox and whoever else makes a ton of cash with that outstanding evolutionary franchise.]

**Chapter 14: Rescuers**

A proximity alarm blared inside the bridge. Captain Surlibo took one look out the view port and shook his multiple arms at the helmsman.

"All ahead full! Hard to starboard! Make an emergency jump into hyperspace!"

The helmsman frantically fed coordinates into the hyperdrive computer, ready to take the _Comet Box _to safety. He didn't need to be told twice. Hovering in front of the freighter were six heavy cruisers of the Republic fleet.

Bard and Kuritas rushed onto the bridge. "What the hell is going on?" demanded the pilot.

"Maddaus gave us the wrong coordinates for the rendezvous!" snapped the Vikosian. "This place is swarming with Republic ships! Have they come for you, woman?"

"Of course not!" said Kuritas. "Republic Intelligence would only retrieve me if I called for them. They wouldn't send a whole squadron!"

"The lead warship has signaled us," announced the communications operator.

"Ignore it," ordered Surlibo. "Where are my jump coordinates?"

"A few seconds, Cap'n," said the helmsman. "Coming about. Engines answering ahead full. Wait, another cruiser has moved into my flight path!"

"Do you have any friends in the fleet?" Bard asked Kuritas.

The agent shook her head. "It'll be hard to explain this to the authorities."

"Skipper!" cried one of Surlibo's technicians. "The lead cruiser is calling on your private channel. They know our encryption sequence!"

Surlibo grabbed an overhead railing with four hands and swung out of his seat. He dropped before the comm-panel and stared at the monitor. A message was being beamed to his ship over and over again.

This is Archangel. Friends of Ivos Maddaus. Welcome to rendezvous.

"I don't believe this," grumbled the Vikosian. "Come and have a look, Bard."

The courier pilot leaned over the captain's shoulder and read the message. He blew a low whistle.

"I think we're in the clear, Surlibo."

The alien wasn't so convinced. He pointed angrily at his two passengers. "Can either of you pesky humans explain how the Republic fleet got a hold of the _Comet Box_'s secret channel?"

"It has to be the old man. Maddaus makes sure we all know something secret about the people we meet. It's like a passcode between strangers. You knew about my crate full of blaster rifles. I knew Mona's codename from Rithoth. Isn't that right, Kuritas?"

"He does like to play cloak and dagger," the agent replied. "These are the coordinates where the Jedi told us to meet."

"Six cruisers, one spy, a pilot and a Vikosian skipper?" Bard shook his head in amazement. "For an old goat, Maddaus sure has a lot of friends."

The Vikosian folded his multiple arms together and turned to the helmsman. "Stop engines and abort the jump. Go ahead and call the _Archangel_."

They all left the _Comet Box _to visit the _Archangel_, but Ivos Maddaus wasn't there. Circumstances prevented him from appearing in person. The Jedi master made a holographic recording, downloaded it onto a hyperspace drone and sent it to catch up with Towson's squadron of wayward warships. But to his confederates, he was no less real. He hovered at the _Archangel _wardroom table like a blue ghost, patient and still. His long white beard cascaded over long robes. His eyes were as sharp in the hologram as they were in real life. Jedi Masters were incredibly perceptive. They observed everything like attentive owls. There was immense value in the imparted wisdom of an accomplished Jedi. This was why the old man drew the attention of everyone in the room.

Commodore Towson and Captain Neiss sat at the opposite end of the table. The squadron commandergave honors to Surlibo, a fellow captain, who joined him on his left. Bard and Kuritas settled into opposite chairs. An _Archangel _technician stood nearby to run the hologram viewer.

The final member of the conference was also a hologram, a human female included in the recording. She was very composed, well dressed and observant. The woman "sat" beside Maddaus and looked ahead at an unseen camera. She seemed anxious to leave, a person of purpose and concern. The members of the _Archangel_ conference were curious about her.

"I am very grateful for the efforts you have all made to be here," began Jedi Master Maddaus. "The neutral planet of Albernon is in peril. For some time, I have been conscious of a rift in the Force. The dark lords of the Sith are moving against this world. There will be unspeakable consequences if we cannot intervene on Albernon's behalf. You, my friends, are the only ones that can rescue the people from conquest."

None of the participants expected to hear this, even from a trusted old friend. They watched in confusion as the woman continued the recording.

"My name is Mira Bannon," said the woman. "I am the Prime Minister of Planet Albernon. I wish we could have met under more peaceful circumstances. My friendship with Ivos Maddaus began many years ago when I was a provincial governor. I learned to trust him in some delicate affairs of state. When he came to warn me about the Sith, I found it hard to fathom. It was a threat that I couldn't see or touch. But it is certainly confirmed. If these dark monsters invade my planet in a military action, I fear the worst. Our militia will not withstand their forces."

Maddaus continued. "Some of you may remember the tale of the Battle of Ruusan, which took place nearly five centuries ago. It was the penultimate confrontation between Sith and Jedi. The council still speaks of its ramifications. The conflict was not just a feud between wielders of the Force. Ruusan demonstrated that vengeance and hate could be shared and channeled by thousands in order to ravage a galaxy. Today, the council will not publicly admit that Sith still exist in small numbers. Our adversaries survive somewhere in the pockets of deep space. Could the galaxy suffer another Ruusan? Perhaps in a different form. The Sith can still take a world through deception and treachery. The Jedi must be wary of their habits and respond in similar ways to protect the innocent."

"We have already found some spies," Bannon explained. "They cannot be imprisoned, tried or sentenced. If the Sith learn that their spies were snared, they will move faster against Albernon. Nevertheless, we must try to anticipate their actions and identify their assets."

"Additionally, the Jedi Knights will not come to Albernon," added Maddaus. "If they were spotted, the public reaction on a non-Republic world would stir more confusion and provoke the Sith. I am acting independently of my council. Madam Bannon has loyal officials willing to do their best, but she needs more. That, my friends, is why I have summoned you. You have qualities that Albernon will require, skills that can deter the Sith invasion. We have much to accomplish in a very short time."

"Here come our marching orders," Bard whispered to Kuritas. Mona hushed him.

"For strategic reasons I have given Commodore Towson and his squadron more information in advance. The Sith will land troops on Albernon in order to seize its capital and industrial centers. Towson and his captains have volunteered to guard planetary space against an assault force. His ships are carrying relief supplies for the Albernon militia. Surlibo's _Comet Box_ is carrying a vast amount of ore, which will be dumped in the approach corridors that lead to Albernon. That will present a navigation hazard to the Sith fleet. Meanwhile, Agent Kuritas will tap into the planetary networks to hunt for data infiltrators. Prime Minister Bannon will give her full access to the global grid. Garollian Bard and the _Lotus _will be tasked for a number of important flights. You will receive more instructions before the invasion. I have learned much about the Sith in my visions, but cannot predict the exact moment of attack. It could be a week from now, or it could be tomorrow. It is paramount that you prepare yourselves and work quickly. I have asked much. I have put you in danger. But for once, the Jedi cannot do this on their own. You are now the rescuers of Albernon, my friends. Good luck."

Bannon and Maddaus bowed to their audience as the holograms disappeared. The technician ejected a recording chip from his computer and handed it to Towson. The wardroom was very quiet until Garollian Bard spoke his mind.

"This is one hell of a nightmare!" he exclaimed. "It would have been nice for the old goat to give us fair warning. What good can a ragtag bunch do against an invasion force? Are you fleet types taking this seriously? The Sith could send an armada to Albernon and waste the planet. Can your ships hold them off?"

"We're going to try," Neiss answered. "It sure beats retirement."

"Retirement?" Bard scoffed at the officers. "What is this, a game for interstellar geriatrics?"

"Just what is your occupation, Mister Bard?"

"I'm a professional skeptic, Captain. And right now I'm having doubts about everything, including you."

Towson raised a hand before Bard and Neiss could jump into a heated argument. "We're all apprehensive about the situation, but let's keep cooler heads. We don't know each other. We don't know what's coming to Albernon. But Maddaus would never send for us if he wasn't confident in our abilities. It's true that we have weak intelligence about the Sith invasion, but we know the threat is real."

"Albernon isn't part of the Republic," Surlibo remarked. "Why would a commodore and a special agent want to get involved?"

Towson glanced at Kuritas. "I can't speak for this operative, and I can't speak for the Republic. I gathered my ships to go to Albernon to help an old friend. My captains are loyal to me and willing to fight for a good cause. This was something we had to do. The squadron has seen plenty of action, but our ships were scheduled for decommissioning. I guess we weren't ready to give up."

Bard was surprised to hear this. "You've gone renegade? All six ships? Won't the fleet go looking for you?"

"I sure hope so," chuckled Neiss. "We could use the extra firepower."

"It was a collective decision," Towson explained. "We knew it would be difficult for our government to help Albernon. The Galactic Senate would never turn its back on a besieged planet, but it can't commit to a military action without a vote. The senators on Coruscant have been known to run some lengthy political debates. A positive response from the Republic could take months."

"Albernon doesn't have that kind of time," said Kuritas.

"It's still one hell of a mission!" Bard declared. "The Sith will play for keeps."

Towson smiled at the pilot. "It looks like you've thrown your lot in with us, Mister Bard. Before leaving base, I was asked by Maddaus to modify your courier ship with defensive systems. Engineers from _Dragon_ are waiting to do the work. You're going to get tossed into the fray."

Bard murmured something inaudible and slid away from the table. The commodore turned to address the rest of the group.

"It's time to get underway. Captain Surlibo, I'd be grateful if you could take the _Comet Box _ahead to Albernon space. Squadron 39 will follow in a few hours. If you answer any hails from

Albernon patrols, reply that you're just passing through."

Bard caught up with Kuritas as they left the wardroom. "You know, we could be back on Rithoth right now running after evil droids. Is it too late to turn around?"

The agent shook her head. "You're a strange man, Bard. But you work for a living, just like me. A job is a job, right?"

"Right," muttered the pilot. "Something like that."


	15. Chapter 15

[Disclaimer: Star Wars fanfiction is based upon the Star Wars movies of the same name. All characters and situations other than my own are the property of George Lucas, 20th Century Fox and whoever else makes a ton of cash with that outstanding evolutionary franchise.]

**Chapter 15: Under the banner**

Darth Shade climbed onto a ledge to get a better look at the landing field below. Down on the vast plain, a battalion of soldiers, engineers and technicians were swarming around the captured JD-90 freighters. The vessels were stripped of their nonessential parts and prepared for war. The cargo frames in Basil Dolvin's search-proof compartments were designed to carry bulk materials. The soldiers needed to modify them with bunks and weapon racks. If the droid haulers were caught by a patrol, the embarked soldiers would be hidden from scanners.

These would be the first Sith vessels to enter battle. Commercial freighters were usually permitted into planetary space. They could land in a spaceport using falsified documents, unload their troops and take the enemy by surprise. This was why the three Sith apprentices had nearly destroyed the supply depot to find Basil Dolvin. The JD-90 haulers were worth their weight in blood.

General Trotsky was very proud of his mercenary army. The commander talked with Shade at length about their training and efficiency. The general even offered a platoon of shock troops to follow the Sith apprentice on his part of the upcoming mission. They would seize a key target on an enemy continent and hold it until reinforcements arrived. Shade found the battle-hardened troopers to be adequate for the task. The combination of a Sith apprentice with superior soldiers was something that the Albernon militia could never defeat.

Shade was transfixed by the fluid motion of the legion. They were swift and disciplined. Each soldier was well compensated by the Banner of Dominus, but that wasn't what kept the troops together. The army had a collective sense of achievement, an esprit_ de corps_. Until the Albernon campaign, the Banner had only touched the galaxy in small, covert missions to fulfill Dominus's strategy. Now their numbers would be set forth en masse. The soldiers were anxious to deploy. It would not be long before they left the citadel planet. A single order was all they needed.

The apprentice gathered up his cloak and walked away from the ledge. A sense of imminent battle was everywhere. He could hear a cadence in the distance, the chant of a hundred soldiers as they marched over a parade ground. A dozen armored tanks rumbled out of the motor pool. Aircraft mechanics were testing a gunship engine on the edge of the landing field, producing a high-pitched whine from the jet blast. Shade was caught up in the excitement of the brewing storm.

He had little time to explore the Sith planet, although much of it was wasteland. The world had no mention in the stellar charts. A few Republic scout drones might have spotted the distant sphere on the fringes of the Outer Rim, but the Sith would never allow themselves to be reported. Dominus kept warships in orbit for blasting any unidentified spacecraft that entered the local system. It was worth killing something to protect the planet's secrets. Who would suspect that a Sith master commanded an entire legion of mercenaries in deep space? Who would suspect that the army was going to take an entire planet and use it as a haven for the dark side?

Lord Dominus explained some of his plan, and part of his vision, before he sent his apprentices to the Dolvin station.

"I have foreseen a time when the Sith return to greatness. I will bring that vision to the present. To that end, I have chosen to take a planet that is ripe for change. It will become a bastion of the dark side. Naturally, the withering Republic will feel the balance of power shift against them. They will react slowly. Their efforts to stop me will be futile. I am counting on the chronic reluctance and friction of their own democracy to retard a military response. The Senate is a thorn bush that holds everything back. The Senate will snare and cut its own initiative until every act is reduced to a shred of its former self."

Darth Shade admired his new master for his patience. It took decades to finance and build a legion capable of conquest and glory. General Trotsky spoke fancifully of a Republic response when Albernon was seized. He would enjoy an engagement with their army. Indeed, the Banner of Dominus was made up experienced and exceptionally trained combatants. The Republic military would be hard pressed to defeat this war machine.

The other apprentices were also busy in preparations. Darth Erader, no stranger to brute force, spent his day inspecting the legion armory. If the bombs and blasters couldn't leave ghastly craters in Albernon territory, he refused to load them on the transports. Darth Stigator, who had a talent for intelligence gathering, briefed Trotsky's battalions with the latest reconnaissance holovids.

Shade briefly discussed his part of the operation with Trotsky's shock troops, but he didn't waste the day with an intensive review. Plans with excessive planning were susceptible to flaws. War flowed like a raging sea. Fighters were like predatory fish meant to crash upon their enemies in a steady rush. It was more important for a warrior to feel the pulse and motions of violence. With the dark side around him, a fighter could become an instrument of death. Only then could the warrior survive.

He slowed his pace along the tricky path that ran above the landing field. Something was waiting for him in the shadows ahead. Shade dropped a hand to the pommel of his lightsaber, but relaxed as the cloaked figure of Lord Dominus appeared from behind a jagged boulder.

"Good evening, my master," he greeted the dark lord.

"Out for a stroll, Shade? Shouldn't you be speaking with your commandos?"

"The time for discourse is over, my master. I needn't pressure them with lengthy drills. Your legion is practically pleading at your feet to go to war. When will you give them the chance?"

"Soon, my apprentice," Dominus assured him. "Are you conserving your strength for the battle? You seem lost in thought."

"Yes, master. I have never seen such an army with the will of your troops. The dark side has saturated Trotsky's mercenaries. What power have you achieved over them? A kind of battle meditation?"

Dominus moved silently to the edge of the cliff and cast his narrow eyes on the legion below. "Using the Force, some Jedi masters can reinforce the will and spirit of their armies. Sith masters use the dark side in similar ways. I never learned those methods, but I did employ a greater tool."

"Yes?"

"The dark side can fuel the desires of even the most stoic warriors. Vengeance, spite, and lust are but a few things that can flourish through my powers. I have spent time with the legion to focus their aggressive feelings on an unseen enemy. Now that the enemy is ready to receive us, the legion's onslaught will be all the more sweeter. Every soldier on that field can clearly see the images of the Albernon surface. They can visualize the enemy troops and the frightened citizenry. They hate them. They want to see them die. A self-righteous planet like Albernon cannot withstand the bloodlust of the Banner of Dominus!"

"Bloodlust," echoed Darth Shade. "What an incredible ability. Did you use that power during my ordeals, my master?"

Dominus chuckled softly. "I haven't influenced you at all, Shade. Your hate was like a natural spring. It only needed a minor catalyst to spew forth and drown your adversaries. This power has served you well."

"Then it will serve me again in the coming battle."

"You have functioned well with my sons, Lord Shade. I think of my three apprentices as the most powerful gears in a machine. They must each turn in synch with one another to achieve perfection. Stigator and Erader took time to bring you into their circle, but the adjustment period was worth it. They were always reluctant to accept new values in their lives. Even as children."

"Children?" Shade tried not to laugh in front of Dominus. "It is hard to imagine Stigator and Erader as boys."

"They always needed encouragement and enforcement. They were fast, strong, and a trifle rebellious. As their father, I had to nurture them with the dark side of the Force while shaping them into men. It was an exhausting process. But they were properly conditioned after several years of indoctrination. I would not be just a parent to Erader and Stigator. I was their instructor, commander and lord. Discipline and loyalty came after they recognized these faces. They became the first apprentices of my sect."

Shade ventured out with a question he always wanted to ask. "Did their mother play a part in their development, my master?"

"Their mother," echoed Dominus. "She had remarkable character. I knew at once that she could bare me strong children for the Sith order. That was why I mated with her. But as my plans developed, I felt it prudent to remove her permanently from the picture. Stigator and Erader needed no influence other than my own."

"She was removed? Did she suffer an accident?"

Dominus waved a hand at him in dismissal. "Don't pester me with such questions, Shade. She was a resource of production, nothing more."

"Forgive me, my master. I will ask nothing more."

"We have more pressing matters to discuss. Thanks to your swift work at the supply depot, we are one step closer to our final goal. Those ships are highly valued."

"Basil Dolvin was a coward. It was not difficult to obtain his freighter codes."

"Why didn't you kill him after he cooperated? Stigator told me that you threw him into an escape pod."

"Forgive me, master, but I reasoned that Dolvin had better use as a courier."

"A courier? What do you mean?"

"If I were a warlord in ancient times, and had just razed a village, I would make a point of sparing a few of my victims. Oh, I'd torture them endlessly and stoke their fear, but then I'd float them down the river to alert the next community. Fear could do the hard work for me. My marauders would find it easier to raid the next time around. Citizens, and especially my enemies, must always remember my wrath."

"How poetic," said Lord Dominus. "So you've left Dolvin to tumble through the cosmos in an escape pod, writhing in total agony, so that others may learn of our power."

"The message carried by one mutilated prisoner is more vital than a thousand executions."

Dominus was amused. "You have a certain artistry, my apprentice."

"Does that please you, my master?"

"Yes, my apprentice. Very much indeed."


	16. Chapter 16

[Disclaimer: Star Wars fanfiction is based upon the Star Wars movies of the same name. All characters and situations other than my own are the property of George Lucas, 20th Century Fox and whoever else makes a ton of cash with that outstanding evolutionary franchise.]

**Chapter 16: Histories**

"How is your shoulder holding up?"

"It's plenty sore, but I'll manage. Where did you get the bacta pouch to heal my injury?"

"I found it."

"Bacta pouches are usually stolen by smugglers for sale outside Republic space."

"What are you, the galaxy's hall monitor?"

"I'm just saying that you can get into trouble if you can't provide a proof of sale."

"That's the last time I help you bring down a man-killing robot."

Mona Kuritas adjusted a connection on her monitor implant. She had bickered with Bard since they arrived in Albernon space. Her first assignment was to scan the Albernon satellite network for intrusions. It took a lot of work. Most of the orbiting com-sats were linked in clusters of three or four. She had to interface with each cluster at a time, checking every one for tampering. There were several hundred clusters. The verbal exchange definitely helped to pass the time.

She spoke briefly with a man named Avraus, the planetary defense minister who had just been informed about the Jedi master and his secret band of defenders. Avraus told the agent about the informant who stole satellite information from their global data center on Mosetia. There had to be a reason why the spy was interested in fuel consumption figures and flight path logs. It suggested other enemy operatives could break into the satellite control systems and sabotage the network. Avraus insisted that it couldn't be done, but Kuritas wanted to see for herself.

Garollian Bard flew the _Lotus _around the planet so the agent could interface with the unmanned satellites. She turned the ship's cramped living area into a workspace. Her computer equipment was strewn everywhere. The astrodroid T6 didn't approve of the Republic agent fooling around with its ship. Even droids could be possessive. After a few hours of flight time Bard put T6 on pilot duty and joined Kuritas at her worktable. He wanted to help her with the satellite problem. Of course, it was also fun to kid around with her. He leaned against the table as she worked on her computer.

"I'll bet you didn't play with the other kids," he snickered. "You were too busy swiping credits from your parents' bank account."

"I wasn't a thief," replied the agent, "but I was very nosy. I broke into my grade school's testing records and gave everybody a passing score for the year. They fingered me after I graduated high school."

"Swimming around in a network must be quite a rush for you."

"It's probably the same feeling you get when you fly this crate around at breakneck speed."

"Yeah."

"What about your childhood, Bard? Get into any scrapes with the other children?"

"I didn't play well with others."

Kuritas looked curiously at the pilot. "Why do I get the feeling that your personal history ran in a very different direction from everybody else?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"You're not just a rambunctious courier pilot who smuggles in his spare time. You've probably got a military record behind your criminal record."

Garollian chucked. "What makes you say that?"

"You had some interesting moves when we got out of the NovaLux. You probably got into a few legitimate firefights back in the day. That also explains your background as a pilot. But you also got rebellious somewhere down the line."

"You could say that."

The agent wasn't fully satisfied with her line of inquiry. "You aren't stopping there, Bard. You may be good at what you do, but you haven't done the kind of work that could earn the full attention of a Jedi master. Maddaus wouldn't seal your Republic record without a very good reason."

"Maybe he deleted it by accident."

"Or maybe the two of you have a history that goes beyond courier runs, smuggling and firefights."

The pilot moved away from the worktable. "You should keep digging in the comsats."

"Will you answer my question? I want to know. You saved my life on Rithoth."

"I'm not a hero. Don't paint me like that."

"So tell me the truth."

Bard settled into a seat by the ration dispenser. "Didn't you say that Maddaus found you when you were a kid?"

"Yes. I was getting into trouble in the networks on my home planet. He cleaned things up with the constabulary and sponsored my entrance into the Republic service academy. He funneled me into the intelligence division when I was old enough."

"That's the old goat for you. He likes to find the disreputable types. I never had an easy childhood. Maddaus found me when I was a juvenile delinquent. He got me my first honest job in the Republic fleet, but I didn't stay for very long. I was an angry kid, even in a uniform. I never cleaned up my life after getting kicked out of the service. There was a lot of money in stealing the right supplies. A courier pilot made the perfect front. Besides, there was something exciting about running like hell from security patrols. But Maddaus caught up with me again. Something made him keep me out of prison. I was indebted to him for that. It made sense to stay in his employment and do the odd jobs."

"He does have his visions," Mona remarked. "Do you think he sees something better for us? We've both ended up in his care. Now we're doing the right things for a change."

"Maybe that crusty old Jedi is our guardian angel," Bard replied. "He probably did wonders for Surlibo and Towson."

"I wouldn't want to let him down, Bard. Even with the whole Sith armada bearing down on us."

"Yeah, I know."

She smiled at the pilot and returned to the computer. "I'd better keep scanning these clusters. I still can't find any signs of tampering."

"That's not to say the Sith couldn't break into the orbital network."

"If I could do it, they could do it."

"Fuel consumption and flight paths," he murmured. "I don't like it."

Kuritas tapped a key on her console. "T6 can fly us to the next cluster."

She didn't hear him answer. Bard had wandered out of the compartment while she was plugged into the network. Kuritas tapped her neck implant to kill the connection and climbed through the forward hatch. The pilot was sitting at the flight controls next to T6, lost in thought. His eyes were fixed on the planet of Albernon outside the cockpit.

The planet was marked with three distinctive continents and a large family of islands. The largest continent was Osroland, a mountainous land mass that spread across the northern hemisphere. Beneath it was the continent of Nellus, home to the capital city and a vast expanse of forest preserves. The third and smallest continent was Mosetia, which sat to the southeast in the company of several archipelagos. A rich, blue-green ocean wrapped around every piece of land. Albernon had prospered for centuries on an industrial complex, but its beauty was still intact.

An off-worlder would be enraptured by the colorful sphere forever. Albernon was alone in the galaxy, a distant stellar body between the Republic and the Outer Rim, but it shined like a beacon. Its people were peaceful and inspired. They built hyperdrive engines and computer systems. They mined the mountains for shipbuilding materials. Some of the greatest scientists and artists to visit the Galactic Republic had hailed from Albernon. Its society was based on the freedom to exchange ideas, to share experiences, and to work in unison toward a dignified future.

"The Sith are monsters," she remarked. "Albernon has a right to exist like any other planet. I can't understand why they would bring so much terror to so many people."

"I figure it's hard to get into the minds of the Sith."

"It's harder to imagine an actual Sith armada in orbit."

Bard suddenly emerged from his spell and slapped the control panel in front of him. T6 swung its cylindrical head around in alarm. "Orbit! That's it! That's the problem!"

"What about the orbit?"

"Not the orbit, but what's in orbit. Hundreds of satellites! The Sith can hack every one of them. Comsats, spy sats, research sats. . . it doesn't matter. They don't want the information in those birds. They want to control the spacecraft."

Kuritas shrugged. "If you can cut out the eyes and ears of Albernon, several billion people will go crazy. They can't talk to each other. The militia would be powerless to coordinate a global response."

"You're looking at it from the wrong angle, Mona. What would Slice do if he could rewire a satellite? What can an orbiting satellite do for someone who wants to kill a billion people?"

She took another look at the lovely surface of Albernon and shook her head in disbelief. "No, it couldn't happen. Not at that scale."

"That's why the Sith would make it work. We have to warn the old goat."

Prime Minister Bannon touched a railroad line on her imaging tablet and traced it with her finger. An automated freight train was parked on a siding to the west of the industrial mining complex of Wrausten. The processing facility was a busy industrial center on Osroland. The train, according to Avraus, was parked nearby for a deadly purpose.

"How many cars?" she asked her defense minister.

"Fifty, Madam," answered the official. "The tanker cars on this freight train are filled with a considerable amount of ammonia gas. It was shipped to Albernon three months ago in falsely-marked containers. I had a sample of the gas analyzed covertly at the science institute on Mosetia. The ammonia comes from the planet of Gand, and is hazardous if consumed by inhalation."

"Wouldn't the gas dissipate in our atmosphere if the tanks were opened?"

"Yes, Madam. But the ammonia could also be volatile if ignited in an enclosed environment, or if mixed with other contents. The box cars on this train are filled with dung and fertilizer. If the train exploded in Wrausten, its combined ingredients would devastate the area and inflict scores of casualties."

"Have you found a detonator anywhere on the vehicle?"

"My agents have spotted an unidentified object in the middle of the train set. It could be a remote detonator."

"Ammonia from Gand," Bannon muttered. "That planet is far from Albernon. The Sith are resourceful in their methods and materials. But why would they want to attack a mining plant complex? If they wanted to take Albernon, they would want to leave our resources intact."

"I agree, Prime Minister. However, I believe that blowing up a train in a populated zone would divert local militia and turn them into rescue workers. They would be distracted while the Sith land troops on Osroland. I have ordered my agents to arrange for the train to suffer mechanical difficulties. It won't reach the complex."

Bannon waved the tablet at her minister. "When was it scheduled to arrive? It could signal the start of the invasion."

"Sadly, there was nothing on its schedule. The train was programmed to wait on a siding until signaled from a rail yard in western Osroland. Contacts in the rail system can't confirm its exact timetable. I believe the vehicles are safely away from Wrausten for the moment. We can continue our own campaign of deception against the Sith. Of course, the Sith have now left us with fifty tankers full of volatile chemicals."

"This can only mean that other accidents will happen on Mosetia and Nellus. Our forces will be detained and spread thin."

"Unless you can prevent these catastrophes!" cried a voice. Bannon and Avraus spun around to the office door. Jedi Master Maddaus was standing in the entrance with Kuritas and Bard.

"The prime minister has revealed you as her secret benefactor," Avraus said to the old man. "My analysts told me you were retired. I'm glad to see that is not the case. We are in your debt, Master Maddaus."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Minister," replied the Jedi. "I believe you have already spoken with my confederates. They have uncovered a problem in your orbital network."

"The satellites?"

"Yes. If you don't gain full control of them, they'll turn into fire and brimstone and rain death upon the planet."

Darth Dominus organized his personal army from a sophisticated command center in his audience chamber. His apprentices, accompanied by the mercenary general Trotsky, were summoned to solve one final problem on the eve of his grand campaign. They stood before a large display screen to view the image of a young man dressed in the trim and formal attire of an Albernon public servant. The apprentices did not recognize him, but they did identify his uniform markings. The man came from a top-ranked position in the capital hierarchy of Albernon's planetary government.

"One of my spies," said Dominus from his throne. "Up until now he faithfully provided information on the schedules, whereabouts and personal habits of the Albernon prime minister. His position as an aide in central administration was most useful to me."

"Was he killed?" asked General Trotsky.

"Worse, my dear General. He was reassigned as an ambassador to the Trade Federation. He is the youngest in Albernon history to receive the appointment. The diplomatic posting was unexpected."

"Political aides seldom get such assignments," mused Stigator. "Father, is Albernon aware of his connection to you?"

"It would seem unlikely," Dominus replied. "I am wary of this development. Without my contact in the capital, we will be unable to confirm the activities of the prime minister. But our existing periphery of assets is still intact. We must rely on that network to support the invasion."

Shade listened intently to his master. He wondered why Dominus had been so forthcoming. Was the master actually worried about starting the invasion?

"Should we postpone deployment?" he ventured to ask.

"Postpone?" Darth Erader scowled as if the word was bitter to the taste. "We do not wait for an Albernon politician! It is time to crush the planet and take it!"

"I wholeheartedly agree with Lord Erader," said the mercenary general. "The JD-90s will be ready for hyperspace by dusk. Two brigades will be embarked on them by dawn. Our warships are ready for action. The dreadnoughts _Warhawk _and _Colossus_ have already loaded three regiments in reserve. We have tanks, artillery and air support. Give me the command, Master Dominus, and the Banner will be carried to Albernon!"

"And that sad, pitiful world will quickly burn," said Erader. "Don't you agree, brother?"

Stigator had said nothing since he arrived in the command center. He held a tablet in his hands, and looked preoccupied with a number of intelligence reports.

"It is difficult to say what has happened," he told his brother. "Albernon is so very quiet, now that our spy is removed."

Shade found it intriguing to watch these figures interact. Erader and Trotsky shared the same fighting spirit, but Stigator was not as engaged. He hovered by his father's throne, wanting for reliable information. The apprentice was more logical than his brother and the mercenary general. But they were clearly the products of a divided Sith history. There were once merciless Sith that conquered everything in horrendous campaigns. There were also calculating Sith that measured their enemies and struck for limited, albeit highly valued aims. Stigator and Erader carried traits from both of these camps. It was Darth Dominus that demonstrated a balance between the factors. He gauged the opinions of his sons and chose a course of action. He valued the benefits that came from both divisions. But which one would lead him to victory?

The new apprentice suddenly realized that Dominus was looking at him. Shade was the only person in the council of war who hadn't registered a definitive comment. The warrior decided to speak.

"We must strike while the iron is hot. We commit everything. We reserve nothing. That is the formula behind all great conquests."

Having heard the opinions of his servants, Lord Dominus leaned back in his throne to consider the outcome. He called upon all of his faculties for this one moment.

"Postponement will not improve our chances," said the dread master. "I will not reschedule what has taken me years to prepare. Still, this development is too potent to ignore. Lord Shade, you will accelerate a major component of the mission."

Shade leaned forward. "Accelerate, my master?"

"Load your shock unit aboard a stealth raider and go to Albernon. Infiltrate the orbital defenses and land in the capital city. Prepare for the first phase and wait for my signal to attack."

"The first phase?" Shade nearly gasped. "My lord, the bulk of Trotsky's force will be a day behind me. What if my part of the mission is interrupted? What if something goes wrong?"

"Do you always whine before battle?" heckled Erader.

"Follow our master's wishes," Stigator growled.

"The shock unit will hold position without fail," insisted General Trotsky. "Albernon militia and police are cannon fodder compared to Banner troops."

Dominus held up a hand to silence the others. He stood up from the throne and approached Shade, a cloaked pillar of strength and determination.

"You hesitate," he addressed the apprentice. "You are right to do so. I expect nothing less from a seasoned warrior. But the dark side is with you. Embrace its power! Go, Darth Shade, and carry the Banner of Dominus to the capital of Albernon!"

Shade was embarrassed. His doubts were clearly visible to the others in the audience chamber. The Sith brothers would take note of his hesitation. That was a weakness that he would not permit again. The apprentice bowed before his master.

"It will be done, my lord. General Trotsky, assemble my shock unit at the hangar in thirty minutes. We go ahead to Albernon."


End file.
